An Unimaginable Attraction
by iamphantomgirl
Summary: Erik and his young son return to France after the death of Christine, where he creates an unlikely alliance with Selene Joubert, the niece of the Vicomte de Chagny. Complete, just needs to be posted.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Wallonia, 1862

"He is not breathing, Félicien. It is fortunate. I ween her to be demon possessed, and now she has born a demon into this family," Milou said softly. "Get rid of it before Gisela wakes."

The young man stared down at the still, red infant in the midwife's trembling hands and felt nothing but relief. The child was blessed to have escaped this family. Yet when he took the small child from the harrow faced woman who was covered in his sister's blood, he felt life. He met the woman's eyes, and wondered if the task had been left to her, if the child might not have been drowned. He took the babe, shielding him, and warned her to silence with a glance. The babe certainly looked inhuman, though it was a more tragic countenance than a frightening one.

"I will bury him, Father," Félicien whispered. "Where no one will ever find him, or look upon this face."

His father did not look at the child again, but his furious dark eyes lit once more on the girl who had birthed it. She had lost so much blood, it would be a wonder if she survived.

"Remember this night, son. Remember it the first time a whore spreads her legs for you, and the consequences of planting your seed there."

"I will," Félicien promised quietly. He took the blanket that Gisela had been making for the child, and wrapped him up tightly, then slipped from the room.

The night sheltered them as he walked away from the house into the dark Ardenne forest. He stopped, just beyond the timberline, and lifted the child's mouth to his ear. A faint breath was evident, but there was no other sound. He started moving again, speaking to the child as he went.

"Go on and die. You're better off in heaven than here, little one. This house will drive you mad. Already it has cursed you with this face, and if you stay, I know what will happen to you. Gisela has been locked in her room for months. Imagine what he would do to you. Just imagine." He kept glancing at the infant, as if expecting him to speak, but that mottled face did not move.

He stopped again, hearing someone running through the forest, hoping the midwife had not told his father the truth.

"Félicien!"

"Abbé Drugge?"

"Let me see him. Please, Félicien."

"What are you doing here? If my father finds out you are here, he will beat her again. Is that what you want?"

"No," the abbé said. "Please. Let me hold my son. Let me give him the rites."

"He does not need them," Félicien muttered.

The priest waited until he was upon them before he spoke again. The moon struck his weathered face, and Félicien glared at him with hatred, but his eyes did not rest on the boy. They rested on his infant son, and he made the sign of the cross as he caught sight of the horrific features.

"Father, forgive me," the abbé said softly. "A blessed thing he does not live, I think. But I am so sorry, my son. My child. I am so sorry."

"A blessed thing, to be sure," the boy replied. "Although he yet lives."

"What? He lives?"

The abbé took the child from him, pressing his ear to the slightly malformed mouth, just as he himself had done. A shudder ran through his thin body, and he held the small body close to his chest for several moments.

"Go, Félician. I will take him away from here. I will raise him, and he will never know your sister's shame. He will never know mine."

Félician remembered the look in his father's eyes the day he discovered that his sister was pregnant. He recalled the way he had beaten her nearly every day of her life, and how none of those beatings had ever compared to the ones she received while she was with child. Perhaps those beatings had caused the child's deformity. Just as this man had been the one to cause dishonor in his family. Although he was only thirteen, his father had taught him about honor. He had taught him about punishment and revenge. He had never taught him about love. His father would never let Gisela keep the child she had loved while it grew inside of her. His sister, who needed something and someone to love as desperately as she needed to feel that love. It was not fair that the priest could take this child and forget all of them while Gisela's punishment would go on. The abbé deserved to be punished too.

"Let me say goodbye to him," Félician said.

Abbé Drugge looked surprised, but he gently held the infant out to the boy he had mentored for the past eight years. Madness ran in the family, but it had seemingly passed over Félicien while it had accumulated in his elder sister, Gisela, to a fevered pitch. He could barely remember that hazy morning when she had seduced him in this very forest, with her angelic voice and devil's touch. God forgive him for many things, most especially that of losing this boy's trust forever.

As his fingers left the cool, hollow infant's body, Félician struck a blow that left him dazed upon the ground, gasping for air. The boy kicked him again with all his might, his breathing heavy in the stillness of the woods.

"Instead it is you who says goodbye, abbé," the boy whispered.

He turned, carrying the child off into the night.

It was only then that a piercing wail was finally voiced.


	2. Chapter 1

**Manhattan, New York**

**Chapter One**

**November 1908**

Coney was burning. Thick smoke filled the air with a dry dustiness, making eyes glare red and throats cough as they choked. Erik and Gustave watched from the ferry as it churned towards Manhattan, seeing the dreams of a family die and along with it, a good portion of Coney Island. The sound of screaming and shouts of despair echoed along the pier, usually filled with laughter and the cacophony of the crowd. Erik looked down at his son.

"What happened?" Gustave asked somberly.

"This happens a lot here," Erik replied quietly. "They will rebuild, eventually."

"Will Phantasma survive?"

Erik turned his gaze further down the shoreline towards his own shuttered paradise. Rather, his former paradise. He had signed the papers just two hours ago, turning his interest in the sideshow over to Dr. Hubert Gangle. The former magician had made him a decent offer on it, more than anyone else. He no longer wanted this place, with its foolishness and noise. Gustave had not wanted to come back since the night Christine died, and truth be told, he had not either.

"Perhaps. It's insured in the event of fire."

"Will you miss this place, Erik?"

"No."

They watched the fire consume the Emerald Tower together until the ferry carried them around the edge of the island and into the harbor. It was somewhat of a relief never to have to think about that place again. He could not say that he would miss it, truly, but there was a sense of fear at the unknown. He had never liked a great deal of change in his life, and yet he was about to do just that, for Gustave.

His son was homesick. He wanted to go home, even though it would be nothing at all like the home he had known before. Erik wondered if he realized this. If he knew that the de Chagny family would now have nothing to do with him, and that the man he had called Father would shun him. He couldn't bring himself to put these things quite so bluntly against his son's ears, yet he knew it was time for Gustave to accept his new life. It was too late for regret, even though that regret burned through him like wildfire every single day.

"Mr. Squelch and Miss Fleck should have everything ready for us when we arrive," Erik told him, knowing the boy liked the tattooed giant very much. "We leave in two weeks, aboard the _Kronprinz Wilhelm." _

A smile crept on Gustave's face. "I miss Cousin Selene and Aunt Marie. Could I go see them? They will live near us, in Avignon."

"I will see if it is permissible to call on them," Erik replied unhappily. He had not known Raoul de Chagny had relation to anyone in Avignon until after he had purchased the estate. Perhaps he should have asked for a list of cities in France that did not include de Chagny's family before deciding to reside there. This was not the first time Gustave had mentioned the two ladies, who were apparently related through Raoul's sister somehow. Most likely by now de Chagny had told his family the truth about Christine, and they would not permit the boy back into their lives. He nearly reconsidered going to France, right then. He could not bear to see his son rejected, and he would not allow them to hurt Gustave; not in any way.

"Cousin Selene has a sister, but Cousin Solange is not very nice to me…she was not nice to Mother either."

"She's not?" he prompted.

Gustave shook his head. "I heard her tell Mother that she was low class. And Mother told her that she was speaking out of turn, and she ought to mind her own business."

"Did she?" Erik asked with a laugh, even as a shaft of pain pierced him. Gustave did not talk about Christine much anymore. He didn't cry either. Whatever light of innocence had once been in his eyes was nearly gone. Somehow he would put the light back there. He had destroyed another life, but this mistake was one that could be fixed. "Your mother was not low class, Gustave. She may not have been of noble blood…. but she was never _low class_."

The boy didn't respond, just gazed out over the water as silent as he had been the past fourteen months. He didn't know how to reach him. Didn't know how to begin. Only through music did his son open up, and even then he did not do so in front of anyone. Erik had tried to play music with him, to teach him new things, but Gustave did not respond well to instruction, responding with derision to any attempt his father made to bring them closer. The only thing that they could possibly share…and his son refused to share it with him.

"I won't have to take a title, will I?" Gustave finally asked. He looked up at Erik, hatred and anger in his eyes. "I don't want to be like them. Or _him_. They did not like Mother, and he never liked me."

"You don't have to do anything that you don't want to do, Gustave. You never have to see any of them again, if that's what you want."

His son turned away, his expression sullen. "I only wish to see Cousin Selene and Aunt Marie. _Maybe_ Uncle Alfred. He always gave me gifts, and I never asked for them."

"We can go anywhere, Gustave," Erik said quietly. "It does not have to be France."

"You would not like traveling." Gustave looked at him for a long time. "You hate the outside world enough as it is. I do not like having to move all of the time. You said that there are outdoor concerts near Avignon. I want to go there."

"Do you wish to attend a school with other children? Or would you prefer a tutor?"

"School," Gustave replied automatically.

They had been unable to find keep one in the months after Christine died, and Erik had ultimately decided to send Gustave to a private school. He had not done well there, and he had not made many friends. Erik knew that his learning had been neglected during the years that Raoul had lost his fortune, but Christine had somehow managed to get him a decent education. Most likely she had relied on Raoul's family to see to it that the future Vicomte was learned.

"Can we go see a picture show?"

"It's getting late, Gustave."

"Sarah Bernhardt is playing at the Sunshine Cinema."

Erik laughed. Gustave had made the acquaintance of the actress on one occasion at a theater in Paris. Christine had taken him backstage, and apparently, she had made quite an impression on his young son. "What is it with you and Ms. Bernhardt? Is she your girl?"

"No." Gustave made a face. "She's an old lady now."

"One show," Erik finally conceded.

They attended the showing, but at Gustave's insistence stayed for the next, which happened to be Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Erik sat through all sixteen minutes, grimly aware of the comparison that Gustave would make from the monster in the movie, to his own flesh and blood father-monster. He bade Gustave to sit back down once the lights came back on, not wanting to face the crowd just yet, and they watched another three movies before he felt safe enough to leave unnoticed.

Gustave usually fell asleep once they were in the car and driving towards home, but this time he sat silently all the way, and continued the silence as they entered the large brownstone where they had lived since a few months after the accident.

He had left Coney largely because of the terrible memories it held for both of them, but mostly because Gustave had grown to hate it. The sparkly façade of the island had melted away, given the harsh circumstances of Christine's death. Around every corner, his son saw Meg Giry, and he was afraid that she was coming back to drown him in the sea. He feared the water that surrounded the island, and sometimes woke up screaming. Erik would sit with him until he fell asleep again, but he never permitted his father to physically comfort him, even from those terrifying dreams. Each night he stayed up well past the time Erik had begun to enforce as his bedtime, and on rising the next morning, he concealed the fact that he had wet his bed during sleep. At first there had been an inconceivable number of spilled water glasses, but Erik had confirmed through the maid that did their laundry the true nature of the constant linen changes made in his sons room. He had never mentioned it to Gustave, not wanting to embarrass the boy, as it was easy to do, and the problem seemed to have vanished since they left the island.

Tonight Gustave entered the parlor and sat down, kicking his feet back and forth.

"Well? What is it?" Erik asked patiently.

"I found _her_," he said quietly.

Erik grew still. "Found who, exactly?"

Gustave rolled his eyes up to meet his father's. "Mother is in your closet. Why is she in your closet?"

"Ah." Erik sat down, unsure how to explain the automaton. Gustave had seen it before, on Coney, but it had made him uncomfortable and it had frightened him. "I did not intend to keep…_her_. But I was selling Phantasma, and…I just couldn't leave her behind. I can't destroy it either, believe me, I have tried. I don't know what to do, Gustave. I should never have made it in the first place."

"Then why did you?" he demanded, looking angry.

"I did not even realize it would be her until it was done," he said, which was as close to the truth as he could give the boy. "I made dozens of those machines. Everything from lions to George Washington. None of them quite so real as hers."

"We should bury it," Gustave said quietly. "As we buried her. No one should ever look at her."

Reeling, physically, Erik could only nod.

Gustave looked at him strangely for a moment, then shook his head.

"What is it? Tell me," Erik pleaded.

"Did you think you could make her real? Like Dr. Frankenstein?"

All of the air seemed to leave him as his son assessed him with a cool, frank gaze. Had he thought that? He didn't think so, but who could remember what mad thoughts possessed him when he had created that damned machine. Her eyes, as he had recalled them, and her sweet face. Yes, mad indeed.

"No, Gustave," he said quite firmly. "That is fiction. It is not real."

"I know that."

_I only wondered if you did,_ his eyes seemed to say. It was perhaps the longest conversation they had ever had, and though he had longed to speak to his son about a great many things, this was not one of them.

"Go on up to bed. I will see you at breakfast tomorrow morning."

"May I eat dinner first?"

Startled that he had forgotten again, he nodded. It had become difficult getting used to the ways of a child. He was constantly eating something, though he remained thin; almost frail. He had a never-ending fascination with science and music, but everything that interested him was hoarded in his room, well away from the curious eyes and ears of his father.

While his son foraged food from the kitchen, Erik pulled a crisp sheet of paper out of the pocket of his coat, staring at the items on the list. He crossed off the selling of Coney Island, and added another in its place. It was with great hesitation that he wrote it down, but in view of everything else that he had committed himself to do, it was for the best.

The newest item was written in his cramped, nearly illegible scrawl: _Find him a mother…or at least a better father than I could be._

He glanced up at the top of the list, which read: _Secure his future._

The last was: _Die in peace._

That he had written down these things might have amused some people. He could recall Mr. Squelch's face as he had told him his plans. To return to France with his son, find a good mother to raise him and ensure that his future was set, and then die. Dramatic, perhaps, but he had passed through the days since she had died with an unbearable weight upon his chest. Guilt, as he had never known guilt before, plagued him from day to night. He still missed her terribly, and he knew from past experience that it would not lessen with time. To have been so close to his own personal happiness, then have it ripped away was more than he could bear. He had tasted joy for only a moment. The loss of it was the most bittersweet part of his existence. To lose Christine, but to gain such a fine, beautiful son.

Perhaps it was not something he consciously decided, but the thought came on the anniversary of Christine's death. That alone spoke volumes about it being the right decision, and Erik set about his singular task with the greatest precision. The first step was ensuring that his son would never want for anything. He set up a trust for him so anchored that no one, not even de Chagny could ever break it. The newest idea, and one he liked the least, was to find Gustave a mother. Someone like Christine. He trusted no one, except for the Mighty Squelch, but the man was hardly suitable to raise his only son. He could think of none of these loud brash Americans that would cater to his son's sensitive, musical nature. As a last resort he could always beseech the daroga for assistance, but he was not certain how his aged friend would react to such a request. Gustave found no comfort in Erik, and Erik could think of no way to comfort him. Touch was forbidden. Words of love he offered had been ignored, until they too died on his lips. The hurt inside of him grew with each rejection until he was poisoned, stung to the heart with the venom of his son's indifference.

The other listed item, the one that he had tried not to think of very much, was the most gruesome. He had considered many methods, and indeed it was not the first time these thoughts had crossed his mind. Even before he had met Christine, he had considered ending his life. It felt as if her death had decided his fate for him. He was weary of this life on earth. A life filled with pain and bitterness. An existence alone, or even a world without her was one he no longer wished to occupy. The only reason he had remained alive for this long was because Gustave needed his protection.

Erik saw, or rather imagined that he saw, resentment in the boy's eyes. At times he wondered if it was really there, or if it was simply that it _should _be there.

There was only one thing that he did know. On the twenty-sixth day of November, they would board a ship bound for France, and they would try to forget the horrors of Coney Island. He would do his best to find Gustave a mother, and then he would join his beloved in the afterlife, instead of each night in his dreams.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**March 1909**

**Paris, France**

Selene's father folded his paper and laid it down on the table, then stared at her Uncle Raoul for several moments. She glanced between the two of them, then at her mother, who was picking through her breakfast with little interest. The announcement in the paper was of great interest to them all, of course, but combined with her uncle's violent condemnation of the subject matter, none of them were sure how to begin.

"It is tasteless and…and morbid! I hate him. Oh, how I hate him," Raoul said miserably. "Gustave does not deserve this, Alfred. Isabelle, tell him, please!"

Her mother sipped her coffee, her eyes lowered in thought for several moments. Then she gave him one of those looks that Selene knew so well. The, it's-none-of-your-business look.

"You are not his real father. You said so yourself," she replied coolly. "What would you have us do to the man, Raoul?"

"He belongs in jail!"

"That is a matter for the courts to decide," her father declared. "I have no interest in dragging this through the eye of the public. They're like buzzards, these new journalists nowadays. I won't have it, Raoul. A man in my position cannot afford for this irritating business to consume our lives once more. Let the matter rest."

"And the fate of the boy?" Selene asked softly. "Gustave is such a gentle child…I can't bear the thought of him coming to any harm."

"The paper says that Mr. Y of America is seeking a wife, and a mother for his child," her mother said firmly. "That to me does not imply he is the deranged lunatic that we have all been led to believe. Even if he is, it is of no concern to us. Gustave is illegitimate. A fact we were blessedly unaware of until last year. I can only say that it is better that we found this out now, rather than later. Or heaven forbid, not at all!"

Her uncle's face contorted in fury, and he rose from the table quickly. "You are my sister, Isabelle. How can you turn against me this way?"

"My duty is to my _own_ children, and to my _husband_ first. Alfred and I have already discussed this, and our decision is final. We will not pay for you to have an attorney to try and force Gustave away from his biological father. Nor will I ask Alfred to turn him over to the authorities. If you do not let the matter lie, it will be the last straw for me, Raoul. I will publicly renounce you as my brother, and forbid you from contacting the girls and I ever again."

"You are condemning him to a life of darkness. I hope you can live with that!"

He strode from the room, then the house, slamming the door behind him.

For a long time her mother continued to sip her tea, and her father ate silently. Selene reached up and snapped the paper from the table to read the article for herself.

_The famed impresario of Coney Island, New York, Mr. Y, comes back to the country of his birth, seeking a wife and mother for his young son. Mr. Y invites all interested to apply at his residence in northern Avignon on the Ides of March. Interviews will be conducted over a three-day period, and the few selected will undergo rigorous questioning. Criminals, fortune seekers, and mischief-makers are strongly discouraged from applying._

He had taken up residence in Avignon? Her heart lifted significantly, but she said nothing to her parents. They would disapprove of any association with Gustave, but she knew that her Aunt Marie would be ecstatic to hear the news, if she could remember who Gustave was, the daft, dear sweet woman. She read the article twice more, then laid it aside when she noticed her mother was watching her carefully.

"Your father is still waiting for an answer, Selene," Isabelle said.

"I thought that I had given it," she replied, not looking at either of them. "I am not interested in meeting anyone."

"You are not being courted by anyone now, are you?" her father asked.

She drew a deep breath, and gazed longingly towards the doorway. "For the one-thousandth time, no. I have no interest in being courted or mooned over, especially by someone eager to please my father. Tell your young friend, whoever he is, to hie off."

"Have you been by to see your sister?" her mother asked, deftly changing the subject to one even less interesting.

"No," Selene replied curtly.

"You need to see her soon. She misses you, you know."

"That cannot be helped, can it?"

"Selene…please try to understand. Solange needs you in her life. It hurts her terribly when you push her away."

"Then perhaps she should not have-"

"Selene," her father cut in. "Do not speak ill of your sister. We must accept who she is, with love, and with…"

"Restrained tongues?" Selene made a face. "I have to go. Give her my _regrets_ this time."

Her mother and father shared a look, but they didn't press her. As she left Paris for the long drive back to Avignon, she wondered for the thousandth time how her own sister could betray her, but right now she had more important things on her mind. Like if she might find her Aunt Marie parading naked on the lawn again when she returned home, or what she was going to wear on the Ides of March, when she showed up at Mr. Y's home in Avignon.

Not that she was applying for the position. But she wanted to see for herself if Gustave was alright, and if her parents would not lift a finger to help him, then it was up to her. No doubt her uncle would be there to cause a scene, but first he would have to find someone to drive him to Avignon, as his driver and the rest of his employees had quit well before the family had gone to America. The bank had repossessed his car, and three months ago they had tried to take the family home, which had been in their family for hundreds of years. Only her father's swift financial moves had saved it from going up for public auction, but it had left both of her parents at the end of their patience with her uncle.

All she knew of this Mr. Y could hardly fill the pages of a book, and yet she knew that Gustave was probably better off with him than with her uncle. That opinion, of course, was subject to change at a moments notice if there was any hint of cruelty in him towards her little cousin. But perhaps her mother was right about one thing. If the man was going through the trouble of acquiring a wife simply for the boy, when by all appearances he had avoided matrimony his entire life, perhaps he was not so terrible after all.

Selene remembered the day that Christine had called her, very excited about the invitation to go to America and sing, and her uncle too had finally expressed some pride in his wife's achievements. He had celebrated, of course, by raiding the wine cellar and consuming more than a fraction of what remained. But Christine had been more joyful on that day than she had ever been, except for the moments she spent with her son. She had spent weeks practicing the song that Mr. Y had requested that she sing, and Gustave had played the tune on the piano for her. It was like watching magic happen before your eyes, listening to them play together, combined with the sweet mystery of the composition. It was always clear that the song had been written with only one instrument in mind: the voice of Christine.

Only once Raoul returned alone did Selene understand the full context of Christine's relationship with the man from Coney. Her body had arrived one week later, and the funeral in Paris had been full of thousands, mourning the loss of their star. Though she had rarely performed in the grand opera houses, she had been loved, and she had loved her adoring fans. Christine and the story of her love affair with the man who burned down the Popular had intrigued people. Her husband's jealousy had kept her from fulfilling the promise of her career. The songs she sang in crowded public venues were tired, overused tunes. The aria Mr. Y had requested that she sing had been the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. Surely a man who created such music could not be the monster her uncle claimed. Surely if Christine had loved such a man, there was some redeeming trait that others failed to see.

She mourned Christine, and she missed seeing Gustave's bright smile and hearing about one of his amazing inventions. Somehow she would find a way to see him again, even if it made her family angry. It was common knowledge now that the Vicomte de Chagny was not the father of the bright, musically talented Gustave. Her uncle, after a week of heavy drinking, had sobbed his story to half of Paris that his wife had deceived him all these years, and she had left him for the father of her child. Her sister's hatred of Christine had been justified, since she loved her uncle Raoul with firm loyalty, and her parents had tried to downplay the incident to the vapid masses, with little success.

When she arrived in Avignon, she instructed the driver to take her past the address listed in the paper, only to find that it was one of the larger estates in the city, and it was completely obscured by a stone wall. It had once belonged to the du Fauchard family before royalists wiped them out of existence during the White Terror. No one had lived in the house for almost a century. She had considered purchasing it nearly two years ago, but had not wanted to commit to such a large house that was decaying with neglect. Today she could see workmen on the grounds beyond the wrought iron gates. They were using traction engines and scythes to clear the high grass, but it appeared their work was nearly done. Trees obscured most of the house, but she could see that the vines had been cleared away from the buff colored stone.

"Do you want me to drive up to the estate, Madame?" the driver asked.

"No, take me home," she said, relaxing in her seat again.

She could, she mused, always write a letter to Mr. Y, asking him to allow her to visit with Gustave. It would be the most polite thing to do, and of course he would most likely say no.

Much better to stick to her original, albeit mad plan. She could only hope that out of the applicants applying, he did not notice she had more reason to be nervous than any of the others.

* * *

><p>As it turned out the first day of interviews looked more like a madhouse than the orderly process she had expected. A line of women stood streaming out the front doors, and an enormous tattooed man who looked out of place in a distinguished looking suit stood at the entrance, writing down names. Almost all of the women kept their distance from him, and some of the more respectable women ran back to their cars and drove away at their first sight of his tattoos and strange light colored eyes. He didn't look at Selene when it was her turn, and she gave her real name, seeing no reason to lie about that. Once the last woman was through the doors, he shut them and instructed a thin woman with wispy black hair to advise anyone else to wait their turn outside.<p>

He turned and faced them all, looking slightly harried.

"Ladies, please have a seat," his voice boomed throughout the entrance, which was lined with chairs.

She could see workmen sanding down the enormous staircase just beyond the foyer and realized that the process of repairing this house would take months, if not years. Still, it was a beautiful home, and it was coming along very well it seemed. Selene chose a seat furthest away from the entrance, which happened to be across from a drawing room or parlor. The doors were firmly shut.

"Where is he?" one of the women asked.

"Is he handsome?"

"Is this really his house?" Another demanded.

"How old is he?"

A barrage of questions assailed the man, and when he held his hands up, they quieted down immediately.

"Mr. Y is not handsome," the man informed them bluntly, with a grim expression on his face. "Mr. Y suffers from a physical deformity, which he says is reprehensible in appearance. He says he is a freak. Having seen the deformity, I can tell you it is true. He asked me to tell you this now, so that any who desire to leave may do so. He will not tolerate foolishness or silliness. Please, refrain from asking him questions unless he gives you leave to do so. He has many applicants. More than likely none of you will be chosen for another interview, but in the event that you are, please leave your information with Miss Fleck, who is outside. This is a very selective process, for a very singular individual. Shall we begin?"

Some of the women simply scurried out the door with their faces averted. He consulted his list briefly and called the first name, and she entered the room across from Selene with the reluctance of a child giving up a sweet. The door had not even closed good before she scrambled out of it with a shriek, and then she was stumbling over the other women in a bid to get away. After the next one left in a similar manner, some of the women simply left. The third one did not react until she was well away from the door, but Selene could see that her step was definitely rushed. The tattooed man consulted with the man behind the door briefly while the women around her began to chatter. The ones who stayed now, she could see, were either desperate or curious.

The tattooed man stepped outside suddenly and left the entrance hall, leaving the door slightly cracked. She heard a voice inside, talking quietly to someone, and she thought she heard Gustave's voice. She strained to listen over the chatter, but it was simply too loud and hot inside the hall to even think. Suddenly the door moved, and she was looking at the self-described reprehensible freak. He was very tall, slender, and his clear green eyes seemed slightly taken aback by the clamor in his entryway. They also seemed angry and a touch uncertain. No one noticed him standing there, and he did not notice her – at first. Then his gaze was on hers, and he seemed to think he might be between the devil and the deep sea. He crooked his finger, his expression funereal, and like a fool, she got up and followed him.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"How many are left?" Erik asked, absently scratching out the name of the third silly shrieking woman who had just left.

"Twenty, Sir, but more seem to be coming in every minute."

He glanced up, his expression blank for a moment. "Twenty? _Women?_"

Squelch nodded his giant head. "Would you like me to send them away?"

"Yes," he muttered. "But I can't afford to stop now, can I? I will keep my mask on for the remainder of the day. It was a terrible idea, wasn't it? Send the next one in."

"Erik," Gustave said with a sigh. "_Must _you do this?"

"Give us a moment, Squelch," Erik murmured. "Come here, child."

Gustave trudged towards him, his chin on his chest and eyes trained on the floor. Erik struggled not to reach for him, knowing the boy would recoil, but yearning to touch him so much that it broke his heart not to. He knew that de Chagny had not been affectionate or attentive to Gustave, and that he was truly his mother's child who needed her more than he needed any other person. He had been loved by the most beautiful, sweetest mother that a boy could ever have. To see her ripped away from life had affected him in a deep and final way. Erik knew now more than ever that he was making the right choice. Gustave's happiness was all that mattered. Somewhere out there was a woman who would love him the way that Christine had loved him. When he found her – if she was one of those women out there waiting – he would do all that he could to ensure that she would heal the hurt inside of Gustave.

"No one could ever replace _your_ mother, Gustave," he said gently. "Not in my heart, and certainly not in yours. I know how much you miss her. But I know that she would understand, and she would want someone here to love you….to cherish you…."

Gustave's fists clenched tightly. "You want a wife. You're all alone, and you want a wife."

Erik laughed shortly. "I have been alone for a very long time. I can go on the rest of my days without a wife." He listened as a trill of annoying laughter came from the hall, and made a mental note to ask Squelch to identify the woman. He would not want his son to have a mother who laughed like _that. _"If I marry, it will not be for love. Whoever she is, she will be someone who will love you, and you will love her. But I do not seek a wife simply for the sake of having one, Gustave. Do you understand? If you like none of these women, then I will not marry them. I will find someone special for you. Only for you."

Gustave looked him in the eye. "I will not like them."

"Please try," Erik said softly. "Please do it for me."

He strode to the door and opened it a crack, peeking out into the hallway. His dining room chairs lined the hallway, and sure enough, there was a crowd of women so deep that he couldn't see all of their faces. They wore dresses of every fabric and color, some of them quite beautiful, many of them not. They were of all ages, from no more than sixteen, to some who looked older than himself. Three of them were even wearing full wedding regalia. He had not thought to restrict who could apply. It seemed as if most of them were so busy chatting that they did not notice him standing there staring.

All except one.

She had been gently fanning herself, but stopped once her gaze rested on his face. She was one of the women who was not particularly beautiful, and yet she had an interesting face, the sort that looked as if it should have freckles but didn't, and seemed almost wrong without them. Her eyes were dark in color, possibly blue, but he couldn't be certain, and her thick, wavy hair was a dark shade of brown that was elegantly styled. Her features were slightly round, yet her chin was firm, giving her a friendly, shy look that was assuaged by a spark of something in those damnably deep eyes. It was so rare, even on this day, that anyone met his gaze for longer than a heartbeat. She did not merely stare at him. She scrutinized him from the top of his head to his feet, and then met his gaze for at least ten heartbeats. It would have been twenty, but his own seemed to skip for half of them as they stared at each other. It was quite disconcerting. This woman was a lady, he could tell immediately by the modern cut of her dress and her bearing, yet she did not stare at him like a lady, or any of the frightened biddies who had come through his home and left just as quickly. She observed him for an unusually long amount of time, and he did the same, curious about her. He beckoned her with his finger, then stepped away from the door, leaving it slightly open.

He turned, hearing her enter behind him. "I am Erik. Have a seat….Mademoiselle…."

"Madame Selene Joubert," she replied quietly. Her back was rigid as they faced each other, then her gaze flickered away, softening when it rested on Gustave, who was ignoring her as he had done the others. She exhaled slowly, taking a tentative step towards the boy. "Hello, Gustave."

"Cousin Selene?" Gustave suddenly exclaimed.

Erik watched as his son bounded across the room and threw himself into the woman's arms. She embraced him with a gentle, scolding laugh, but she knelt to the floor and Erik could see tears in her eyes. She held the boy to her tightly, her face buried against his neck.

"Gustave," she whispered. "Oh, Gustave, I am so sorry."

His son sobbed openly, and she just held him tighter, rocking him gently in her arms. Taken aback, he could do nothing more than watch, unable and unwilling to stop the tender reunion. It tugged at his heart to see the naked expression of grief and love on her face. Somehow he had never imagined that any one of the de Chagny's had felt so strongly for Gustave. Raoul had certainly never expressed anything close to this in the time he had seen him with the boy.

"My mother is dead," he heard Gustave say brokenly. "Did you know?"

"Yes," she replied. "Oh, Gustave. But she will always be watching over you, child. She is looking down from heaven and smiling upon you every day."

"That is just what Erik says," he said in a small voice. He pushed away from the woman and looked at her, his expression grim. "But Erik says I need a new mother now."

The woman looked past the boy into his eyes. Whatever she saw in his expression made the judgment she was about to make die in her throat. She turned her attention back to Gustave. Her eyes grew bright with unmasked affection, and his son with only little hesitation returned the look.

"It makes me so happy to see you. How you have grown!"

"Where is Aunt Isabelle? And Uncle Alfred?"

"They couldn't come today, but I know they will be excited to hear that I was able to visit you. And perhaps….?" She looked up at Erik questioningly.

"Erik?" Gustave pleaded.

"I will consider it," he said stiffly. "How are you related to the Vicomte, if you do not mind my asking?"

"He is my uncle. My mother is his sister, Isabelle Joubert," the woman replied carefully.

"Is it not polite to leave a calling card? As you can see, I am rather busy at the moment."

She stood, smoothing her skirts out, then took Gustave's hand. "No one in my family knows that I am here. My uncle read your ad in the paper, and I felt it was my duty to come and ensure that Gustave was alright. We have not seen him since he went to America."

He withheld words of venom, only for Gustave's sake. His son had an expression of love and yearning on his face, and he could not destroy it to further this same old petty argument. Not right now anyway.

"Are you here alone?" he questioned her softly.

"Quite alone."

He smiled, and noticed with pleasure that she seemed to shiver involuntarily. She knew who he was. He could see it in her eyes.

"At ease, Madame," Erik murmured. "There is a crowd here today. You are safe."

Gustave looked between the two adults uncertainly, noticing the tension suddenly. Erik lowered his gaze immediately, noticing a subtle reproach in the woman's face for attempting to frighten her. No matter. It had worked.

"Was your journey pleasant?" she asked, addressing Erik in a voice that trembled slightly.

"No, Madame. It was not."

"My apologies then. It is terribly cold on the ocean at this time of year, is it not?"

"Indeed."

"I do hope you will come and dine with my aunt and me sometime. Or at the very least, allow Gustave to do so."

Erik's jaw tightened. "A matter we should discuss in private, Madame."

"I see." She turned back towards Gustave, a flush evident on her features. "Gustave, I should come back at another time."

"But you just got here!" he said, casting a disparaging look at his father. "I don't want you to leave."

"It's no matter," she replied gently. "I know that your fa-father is very busy right now."

Erik received another glare from Gustave, and retreated behind his desk. He could order Madame Joubert out of his house, but the damage had been done. Gustave would pester him endlessly now until he could see her again, and thus far, he had been unable to call his son's bluff.

"Can I come with you?" Gustave asked. "I don't want to be here while these _ladies _are here."

She seemed to pale slightly, and he allowed his gaze to bore into her skull, hoping she could feel every one of the nerves that were inside of him, screaming at her to leave.

"No, not today. I am sorry. I promise we will see each other soon, Gustave, and I am sure-"

"Where is he?" a familiar voice demanded from the hall.

"Sir, you cannot go in just now," Squelch said firmly.

"You tell him that I am here, and that I demand to see him at once!"

Erik laughed beneath his breath, and the woman seemed to wither completely.

"This is only getting more interesting."

"I swear that I did not bring him. I do not wish for him to know that I am here." She lowered her eyes to Gustave, and placed her hand protectively on his head.

"Who?" Gustave questioned, obviously not recognizing the voice of Raoul de Chagny.

"Gustave, why don't you take Madame Joubert on a tour of the house," Erik suggested, opening the doors that led to the library instead of the ones to the hall. "I will come and get you in a little while."

"Yes, Erik." He tugged Madame Joubert's hand, and she gratefully followed him out of the room.

"Squelch?" Erik called out. "Send the Vicomte in now, if you please?"

The man himself entered without introduction, his eyes blazing with anger. "Even for you, this is absurd!"

"Do not speak to me about the absurd," Erik said, his voice low and calm. "I do not know why you have come, but you waste your breath by speaking to me."

"Perhaps I've brought the gendarmes," Raoul replied acidly. "What would you do then?"

"What a question! Probably what you imagine I would do."

"Where is Gustave?"

"Upstairs, away from you. No, I will not be letting you see him, if that is why you are here."

"I raised him as my own-"

"If that is how you treat your own, then I thank God that you never knew he was mine!"

"Didn't I?" Raoul asked bitterly. "He was composing before he could reach the keys to the piano. His voice….his music. I knew. I never wanted to admit it, least of all to…her."

Erik glanced away as Raoul's eyes filled with pain. Perhaps the boy had not treated his Christine the way she had deserved, but he could never deny that the boy loved her. And he was certainly not the one to blame for her death. But he would not leave Gustave to such an unstable man. Such an uncertain fate, drinking, whoring, gambling away everything. He would not allow his son to be subjected to the chance of having nothing. And he certainly wouldn't allow him to be raised by someone who never took an interest or showed him even a little love.

"What do you want, de Chagny? Why are you here?"

"I want to see him," he said simply.

"Not today."

"When?"

"When I decide it's time. If you'll excuse me, I have duties to attend."

"When you decide?" Raoul echoed. "Lest you forget who I am, I'll remind you-"

His next words were cut off by Erik's coarse laughter. He stared dumbly at Erik for a moment, then his expression contorted into rage.

"I will have you arrested, you bastard!"

"Arrested? Me?" he responded innocently. "But whatever for? What can you prove, Vicomte? And did you think I would not take precautions, before coming home? Do you not remember that I always, _always_ land on my feet? Mr. Squelch, come in here a moment, please?" He waited until the tattooed giant stood beside his desk before removing his gaze from that of Raoul de Chagny. "Three years ago I sent Mr. Squelch here to check up on you. Not Christine…just you. He was to report back to me and tell me if you were good to her. If you deserved her. And what do you think he found?"

Raoul looked stunned, and glanced up at Squelch with a look of ill ease on his face. "I never saw him. I think I would have remembered."

"Squelch, did I tell you to be seen by Monsieur de Chagny?"

"No, you did not," his employee replied with brevity.

"You had no right!" Raoul shouted, looking terribly offended. Perhaps a little frightened. Erik read the fear in his eyes quite plainly, and took little joy in it. There was no honor left in this man. None at all. He was morally deficient. He was perhaps even worse off than the man he hated so much.

Erik pushed forward with the tearing down of de Chagny with little pleasure. Squelch had taken his report very seriously, and he had been rewarded handsomely for turning it in with such attention to detail. He had followed the Vicomte for four months, from the beautiful home that he had shared with Christine and Gustave, to the very worst slums imaginable.

"Let's take a look at the report, shall we? No need. It's all right here, in my head. Twelve December, 1905, subject loses large sum of money at the tables in Monte Carlo. Twenty – Fifth December, same year, spends day with mistress. Misses Christmas entirely, returns home on the first day of January, 1906. Three days later…."

"Enough," Raoul said very quietly. "Why didn't you just have him kill me, Erik? Wouldn't it have been so much easier?"

"Did I ask you to kill him, Mr. Squelch?"

"No."

"Would it have been easy for you?" Erik pressed softly.

"Of course," Squelch replied without sounding offended.

"And if I _had_ asked, would you have done it?"

"I cannot be made to answer such an incriminating question, Sir," his employee responded soberly, neither affirming nor denying anything.

Erik met Raoul's defeated gaze. "I can be gentlemanly after all. Consider this: if you had been the man she deserved, I never would have had a place in her heart. You could have made her forget all about me, you fool! I did not destroy your lives. I gave you freedom, and I expected you to treat her with greater accord. She would be alive if I had not interfered, that much is true!" Erik said, his voice growing thunderous. "But if you try anything foolish, I will destroy you. Understand? Do you remember what happened three days after the New Year of 1906?"

Shaken, Raoul barely nodded. "A duel," he whispered.

"But not a fair one, was it? Haven't duels been outlawed in France for some two hundred odd years?" he pondered. "Do they not go by another name?"

If anything, the man's face paled more. "What are you going to do, Erik?"

"With this information? If I had wanted you arrested, I would have done it years ago," he said bitterly. "Do not think that I wouldn't have, but I did not want Christine to find out sort of man you are. Perhaps she knew. It does not matter anymore, does it? Neither of us was ever good enough for her. Certainly not you, a card cheating, whore mongering, lying bastard."

"I did not cheat!"

"There are plenty enough people who believe that you did. I think with very little effort at all, they could be convinced to bring this to the attention of someone who matters. This is not all I have against you, dear Vicomte. Squelch takes his research very carefully, indeed." He let that sink in for a moment. "You are in my home uninvited. I would think you of all people would remember that I do not like uninvited guests. Leave. Now."

Raoul's face tightened in anger as he strode past, but he left without another word.

"Squelch?"

"Yes, Master?"

Erik grimaced. How many times had he asked not to be called that? It reminded him too much of Coney Island, and he never wanted to visit those memories again. "How many now?"

"Some of 'em got tired of waiting and left, but there's more now than before, Sir. You want me to send them home?"

"No. Send the next one in. And send someone up to check on Gustave. He is in the company of a young woman. Keep an eye on her."

"Yes, Master."

"And if the Vicomte comes here again, you have my permission to remove him from the premises by any means necessary."

"Understood, Sir."

The next woman was obviously from the streets. Her hair hung limply around her shoulders, and the dress that she wore had seen better days. She looked thin and angry, and Erik dismissed her almost immediately, as he did the next thirty that came through his door. They were either weak willed or unhappy, fortune seekers or some were simply curious. He sent them all home, asking hardly any questions at all, his mind preoccupied by the woman upstairs with Gustave. Unable to tolerate the separation from his son any longer, he finally asked Squelch to send the rest of them on their way, and made his way towards the music room, where he could hear them laughing together.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Come and see my room!" Gustave said excitedly. "It's beautiful, and Erik says that I will be getting another of his inventions soon. I will be able to hear music anytime I want. He creates music in everything. Did you know that?"

"I didn't," Selene admitted absently. She followed him down the long shadowed hall, her eyes wide with wonder. She wondered if Erik Younger knew that the family had been murdered in the courtyard, and imagined that he probably did. From what she had heard of him, the man was an oddity and was drawn to his fellow oddities just the same. "Do you like it here, Gustave?"

"It's alright," he said softly. His voice was just a little sad, and he looked up at her. "I wish Mother could be here."

"I am sure that she wishes it too, love," Selene replied gently.

He led her into a spacious blue and cream paneled room, bedecked with all sorts of interesting and completely unidentifiable things. Gustave dove onto the bed, sending pillows tumbling to the floor. He laughed as she tickled him and pulled him into her lap. For a long time he just stayed in her arms, and she just held him as a lump grew in her throat. Gustave had always been special to her. There were no other young children in her family, and Christine had been one of her closest friends. She missed her, sweet and sometimes a little sad Christine. While her parents, her mother in particular, had not approved of the marriage between the opera singer and Raoul, Selene had always felt a kinship with her.

"I want to ask you some questions, Gustave," Selene finally said to him. She turned him in her arms so she could read his expression. "Would that be alright?"

"Of course."

"Now. Who is that strange man downstairs, the one with the markings on his face?"

"That's Squelch. He's the Mighty Squelch," Gustave clarified. "The strongman."

"Indeed, he does look very strong," Selene agreed. "And is this strongman a - nice man?"

"Oh yes. Erik told him he must be nice, or else."

Or else, what? Selene wondered. Knowing that Monsieur Younger would probably question the child later, she decided that for now not to probe into their relationship. It had been over a year since Christine's death. Gustave seemed…well…normal for a child who had lost his mother. There were happy moments, but she could tell that he missed her terribly.

"Do you like it here, truly?" she asked him, ruffling his hair absently.

He nodded, his face serious. "Erik has the most wonderful creations. He designs things, all these wondrous things. And music." He gave a small sigh, one of happiness. "There is always music here."

"Music," Selene whispered, drawing his head against her side. "Then if there is music, there must be a music room. Will you show it to me, Gustave?"

# #

Erik was surprised to see the woman, Selene, sitting next to Gustave at the piano. She was slowly tinkering at the piano with one hand, and her other was clasped within his. Most likely she had been tutored to entertain the fashionable nobility or to snare a husband with her effortless talent. She glanced up at him over the piano, two spots of color appearing on her cheeks. Gustave stared up at her with a wistful expression on his face.

She did not stop playing until she reached the end, but he could tell she was no longer concentrating on the melody. She glanced up at him expectantly, her fingers sliding away from the keys.

"It is safe now."

"Thank you, Monsieur…M…."

"Younger," he supplied grudgingly. "Erik Younger."

"My uncle and I are not on speaking terms." She raised her hand to stroke Gustave's hair. "It is unfortunate that some people never see what treasures they have."

Gustave turned to look at her. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"Yes, I must go."

"I don't want you to leave," he whispered, hurling himself into her arms once more.

"Gently, Gustave," Erik chided softly.

"Sorry, Erik."

"Apologize to Madame Joubert."

He raised his head to look at her, and she kissed his face, ruffling his hair with a smile.

"It's alright, love. I will miss you too. But I have been gone for far too long. With your Father's permission, we could take a walk in the park this week sometime. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Erik, please?"

Erik suppressed the little sliver of annoyance that he felt. One thing he would never deny Gustave was love, and he could not do so now. But he did not appreciate being manipulated. He would settle that score with her at another time.

He nodded once. "Gustave, please show Madame Joubert back to the entrance, and say goodbye to her."

"It was nice to meet you, Monsieur Younger. I hope you will forgive me for intruding today," she said to him politely as you please.

"You are forgiven," he replied, subtly letting her know that she had, in fact, intruded.

She flushed, then followed Gustave from the room. His son led her by the hand, and that slight, careless touch brought tightness to his chest.

# #

The telephone rang as she was sorting through a pile of things that were being donated to charity. Her aunt supported at any point and time, about six or seven causes that she was devoted to, but since she was growing forgetful of late, Selene had discovered her own true passion for it. Decorating nearly every spare piece of furniture in the parlor were the gowns and throwaways of some of her closest friends, whom she beseeched upon once or twice per year to aid her in the endeavor of giving to those less fortunate. Her favorite cause was The Venerable Heart, a society dedicating to teaching women and children to read and write, and it was the one to which she devoted most of her time and money.

Leaping over a mound of shoes, Selene avoided knocking over two tables and a maid as she reached the irritating contraption.

"Joubert residence. Can I help you?" she answered, quite breathlessly.

"Is Madame Joubert available?" A man's voice inquired.

"Marie or Selene?"

"Selene," he replied.

"I am Selene."

The man cleared his throat once. "This is Erik Younger. Gustave would like to see you very soon. I would like to ask some questions of you before I allow it."

"Of course," she replied immediately, feeling her stomach flutter in nervousness.

"Did you have any idea that your uncle was coming the other day?"

"I thought he might come. He was quite upset about your advertisement while I was visiting my parents' home in Paris, but I did not invite him to travel to Avignon with me. I rather hoped that I could avoid his visit altogether, unfortunately, he was waiting for me when I came home."

"To ask about your visit to Gustave?"

"I saw no reason to inform him I was ever there. He wanted a place to spend the night, and a driver to take him back to Paris. I arranged both for him, and sent him home."

"Did he make any reference to his visit to me?" he asked quietly. "Think carefully before you answer, Madame. You will realize I have no great affection for your uncle, a feeling that is mutual. Gustave has said he does not want to see the Vicomte, nor your mother Isabelle or sister…I forget her name. Only Gustave's insistence to see you has swayed my vote in your favor, but I will strengthen my resolve towards him if I think you were sent to sabotage my place in his life."

"My uncle spent his day sampling all of the liquor in the house, and then my maid spent the next morning cleaning up the aftermath." Selene twirled the cord around her finger, contemplating a great many things. Her greatest desire was to continue to see Gustave, but she had been raised better than to discuss family secrets, especially to a perfect stranger. Yet there was so much already publicly known, surely Monsieur Younger knew, and deserved to know, what sort of man her uncle really was. "I realize that you do not know me, Monsieur, and that your first duty is to protect Gustave. I think that is very honorable, because he has not enjoyed that sort of affection and love from a great many people. While any conversations between myself and my uncle are private, I can tell you that he does love Gustave, but he is utterly incapable of taking care of a child. He wanted my parents to hire a lawyer to intervene, because he can no longer afford to retain one. They refused. He asked it of my aunt, and at my indication, she refused."

"I see," he murmured. "Why did your parents refuse?"

"Because they do not wish to create a scandal. My uncle has already publicly announced that Gustave is not his son."

"And you?" he asked immediately.

"Gustave told me that he was happy. Unless he tells me otherwise, I will not interfere."

His soft laughter sent a shiver through her core. She wondered at that laugh. It was the sort of laugh that made her reconsider her opinion of him as reserved, but not unreasonable or cruel. And it sounded an awful lot like a threat, or an invitation at the very least.

"Good day, Madame Joubert. If you are not otherwise engaged tomorrow, Gustave will be at the Palais des Papes directly after noon. By the way, next time you think of an unannounced visit to my home or suggest outings with my son, please check with me first. I don't like your interference. And just so we are clear, I don't like you."

Then he hung up on her.

"Well I don't like you either," she said to the dead line.

Annoyed by his rudeness, she resumed her task of sorting the clothing by size, but she was now distracted and found herself sitting amongst the mess, wondering about Monsieur Erik Younger. With very little effort she could recall the rumors of what had transpired between her uncle, Christine, and the man known as the Phantom. Neither her uncle nor Christine had ever spoken about it, but she had been a young woman of twenty when the events occurred, living in Paris still with her parents. It had disrupted her life for quite some time, and without much regret she had stayed out of the public eye along with the rest of her family. A few months after the fire at the Opera, Christine and Raoul had married in a private ceremony, and perhaps not quite nine months after that, little Gustave had stolen her heart with his cherubic face and always grasping hands.

It had been during Christine's convalescence that her uncle had begun to drink more noticeably, but for awhile certain things had preoccupied her life, and she had not grown close to Christine until a few months prior to her own move to Avignon.

She had taken pity on the poor girl, always left out of conversations during Christmases and family dinners. Her parents had always been civil to Christine, but her mother especially had made it known that she did not approve of her only brother marrying an opera singer, and the scandal that surrounded her. Solange, her sister, had gone out of her way to be cruel to Christine, and once Selene had made a few tentative steps towards befriending her, her sister nearly succeeded in ensuring that those efforts were ruined.

Had it not been for Gustave they might have never made it past those first awkward stages of conversation, and yet they finally did manage to break the tension in slow degrees. Through Christine, she had developed a deeper appreciation for music and literature, and the curious things the girl knew had surprised her on more than one occasion. That everyone assumed she was an uneducated woman, called to a vocation where people were known for their loose morals and ill manners, never seemed to surprise Christine. Their words fell away from skin that grew tougher each passing day, and Selene, in admiration and love, had come to her defense to the chagrin of her own family. Her friendship with Christine was yet another thing her sister would not forgive her for, and perhaps she had embraced that fact along with the friendship with more determination than necessary, but she had wept many tears over Christine's death, and she was comforted now knowing that she had not maintained that friendship out of spite.

And now the only part of her dear friend that remained was Gustave. She vowed to ensure that he was happy and adjusted in his life, and that if he should ever need her for any one thing, no matter how small, she would be there to help him through it.

Permitting of course, the man formerly known as the Phantom and now known as Erik Younger, would allow it.

* * *

><p>AN: I hope you guys are enjoying. Sorry if I haven't responded, but I do appreciate your reviews!


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The Palais des Papes was known for being the principle home to the papacy during times of discontent in Rome during the Middle Ages. Mr. Squelch, who would not address her by name, was waiting for Selene near the entrance with Gustave. The boy ran towards her with his arms outstretched, and she lifted him in a circle, feigning a groan.

"You weigh a ton!" she exclaimed, squeezing him tight. "What did you eat for breakfast this morning?"

"Eggs. A lot of them," he answered, smiling exuberantly.

Selene kissed his cheeks, ruffled his hair, then looked up at Mr. Squelch. "Will you be joining us?"

"I have errands to run," the man said, surprisingly good-naturedly. "You have fun, Master Gustave. I will be back in an hour."

Selene and Gustave walked sedately into the palace, which had only been turned into a national museum two years prior. Many parts of it were under heavy renovation, but for awhile they lost themselves in the frescoes adorning the ceiling, and listened to the stillness of the building.

"So many important decisions made here," Selene said, walking along the wall. "I've been here a dozen times, and I always see new things."

She glanced at Gustave, noticing he wasn't paying attention to her, or to the building. She followed his gaze along a rampart, where a man was standing and watching them. At first she felt a flash of annoyance that Mr. Younger could not give her a moment alone with the boy, but she realized that she would have probably done the same had she been in his shoes. The eye opening around the white mask seemed vaguely ominous, as if it were watching her, even though his gaze was on his son.

"Your father worries for you," she said quietly.

"He thinks you will try to take me away from him."

Selene smoothed back his hair, lifting his chin a little. "Do I need to? Do you want me to, Gustave?"

He shook his head quickly.

"You know, if there is anything you need to tell me…it's alright."

"Erik doesn't like people, but he is kinder to me than the Vicomte," Gustave said vehemently. "I do not want to go back to live with him."

Selene wanted to tell him that he would never have to, that he could live with her, but she knew that if she did somehow the man still staring at them would find out, and she would be forbidden to see him again.

"Tell me about America. Was it exciting?"

He frowned a little. "At first. I did not like it there much after…after Mother died. I missed you, Cousin Selene."

"And I missed you." She took his hand, not bothering to glance again at Erik Younger, and led Gustave deeper into the palace. They wandered for a bit more then stepped outside so the sun could warm them. There were other people about, and she sensed that he would not follow them here. She sat down on the stairs descending into the cour d'honneur, and lifted her face to the sun. They spoke of music, and what Americans were like, but they did not touch upon any subject that could be considered remotely sensitive.

"Think our hour is up?" she asked him as the sun began to change its course.

Gustave nodded, his expression glum.

"Maybe next time we can really go to the park. Can you still ride a bicycle?"

Gustave laughed. "Of course, silly. I will ask Erik."

She hugged him tightly for a few moments, overwhelmed suddenly for his loss, and for hers, and then she led him back toward the entrance. A black automobile waited out front, and Mr. Squelch stood near the passenger door waiting for them. Gustave climbed into the car, and she could see the profile of a man in the backseat, though he did not glance up at her. She smiled as Gustave turned in the seat and waved at her exuberantly. She returned the wave until the car turned down another street and disappeared from view.

Selene took herself off from the Palais and followed in the same general direction, though where Monsieur Younger's estate led further into the spacious northern section of city, her aunt's townhouse dwelled near the heart of it. She loved Avignon, and had grown quite happy here looking after her forgetful and loving aunt, and throwing herself into the charitable causes with the same youthful energy that her aunt had once done. Aunt Marie had never married, a solitary life that she did not seem to regret, but Selene yet hoped that one day her own life would be joined by another's. The one opportunity that had presented itself had been cut short, a fact that she chose not to dwell on very often, and one that she recognized now she should have seen coming.

On arriving outside of the townhouse, she recognized a long sleek car, so unlike the one that she had witnessed Gustave leaving the Palais in only moments earlier. It was a car that she knew well, and the sight of it caused both joy and nervousness to course through her veins.

Her father was seated comfortably with her aunt, his own dear sister, when she entered the sitting room. The look her father gave her at once told her that her aunt, while sometimes forgetful, had been able to inform him of her recent reacquaintance with a certain young boy.

"Father," she said, greeting him with a kiss to each cheek. "How wonderful it is to see you."

"And you, daughter," he replied, his eyes filled with gentle rebuke. "Marie tells me you have been to visit Gustave and his…father."

"Only Gustave. We met at the Palais des Papes."

"Is he well? I see that you have come to no harm."

"He misses his mother, of course," Selene replied carefully. "I believe he is well cared for, and that Monsieur Younger is not violent or inattentive to the boy. Beyond that, I do not know."

"Hmm," he returned, looking no more pleased than he had been a few moments before. "Then if he is as you say, I trust you will put the matter to rest. I had some idea that you might seek out his company. Your mother thought so as well."

"She sent you to check on me?"

"As she often does." His eyes warmed for the first time, and he took her hand. "Sit, please, and tell me about Monsieur Younger."

"There is not much to say." Selene fiddled with a bit of fuzz on her skirt as she sat across from him. "He is…well…"

"Is he dangerous?" he asked quietly.

She gave a helpless shrug, but inwardly she recalled that laugh he had given over the telephone. Even now it affected her strangely. "Perhaps. I have not seen him in a temper. Having worked with the Venerable Heart, I could say that anyone is capable of being dangerous, given the right circumstances."

Her father leaned forward, his gaze stern once more. "Listen to me, Selene. Stay away from this man. I do not often order my daughters, nor my wife, to obey me. In this I demand compliance. If you must see Gustave, let it be without his father near. I prefer it greatly if you would let the boy live his new life. It must be a painful reminder to see you, when it would remind him of his mother. I know you have long been attached to him, but I beseech you, let them both alone."

Selene glanced uncertainly at her aunt, who was stroking Chaos's head, lost in her own world as she often was these days, then back to her father.

"I love Gustave, and I will see him when I am permitted to. As for Monsieur Younger, I do not believe he will let the boy out of his sight for long, but I will do my best not to engage him if that is your desire. I will not, however, treat him in any manner that I would not treat you or Uncle Raoul, unless he warrants my dissatisfaction in some way."

"Selene…"

"My only interest is Gustave," she said firmly. "It is not his fault that his parents created this environment. He is an innocent child. And still part of this family. Or at least he is to me."

Her father's gaze left hers, defeated, in the face of the tears she was close to shedding. He reached over and patted her hand.

"Take care, Selene. This family has endured enough tragedy at the hands of that man."

"And it could be said at the hands of another."

Her father nodded. "Yes, it could."

"Will you stay awhile?"

"I think I should see my dear sister more often," he replied. "Marie?"

"Hmmm?" Her aunt turned to look at her, her softly wrinkled face full of surprise. "Why Alfred! When did you arrive?"

Her father looked sad as he answered, "Just now. And how are you today?"

It was an answer she thought her father must have answered half a dozen times already, and one he would answer a half dozen more before the visit was complete. A feeling of dread welled up inside of her. She knew that she could not live here forever as her aunt slowly succumbed to dementia.

Her father cautioned her no more on the matter of Erik Younger and Gustave, and yet Selene knew with absolute certainty that it was not the last she would hear of it.

* * *

><p>It was another fruitless day of interviews the morning after Gustave's visit with Madame Joubert at the Palais des Papes, and the afternoon had finally settled in when Mr. Squelch announced that he had a visitor.<p>

"I am not interested," Erik said as he gathered up some papers. "I am on my way to the building I have purchased in the city. I will return at nightfall. You will watch over Gustave while I am gone."

"The gentleman says that he is Selene Joubert's father," Mr. Squelch replied.

Erik stared at his employee for a moment, considering. He did not like feeling as if he was treading into the webs of that family, not at all. He could not fathom a reason for the arrival of this man, unless it had something to do with Gustave. And any business that had something to do with Gustave, he was very interested in.

"Admit him at once then."

The man who entered was perhaps sixty years of age, broad of shoulder, with dark brown eyes and salt and peppered hair, with more salt than pepper. He was distinguished looking and conducted himself with the air of a gentleman, yet not in a way that could be deemed snobbish or dismissive. He thought in this man he recognized a lion, and in most aspects, he was probably right.

"Monsieur Joubert, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I came to discuss my daughter," the man announced.

Though he could not have been more startled, Erik did not react visibly. "Your daughter?" he repeated.

The man inclined his head, seeming to choose his next words carefully. He showed no fear, and before he spoke a word, Erik caught his meaning. On one hand, it infuriated him to no end to be considered in need of warning, and yet now he could understand the pains of a father and the lengths he would go to in protecting his children. Still yet it stung.

"I have two daughters, Monsieur, and of them, Selene has always been the easy one, the obedient one. And also the one most likely to cause trouble by involving herself in matters with which she has no business. She thrives on it, in fact. I consider this matter between you and my wife's brother a matter which is none of her business, but my daughter and Christine shared a special friendship, and she loves the boy dearly." Alfred Joubert drew himself to his full, considerable height, and looked at him squarely. "That being said, I would prefer it that you discourage a relationship between them. No good can come of it."

"You judge my son unworthy of her company?"

"No. Only yours."

"Ah." Erik held his temper in check, just barely. "I understand you perfectly, Monsieur Joubert. Have no fear. I have only loved one woman, and I love her even now. Your daughter is certainly not to be considered among my candidates for wife. A fact I could not state vehemently enough."

"We are in accord then?" The man bowed formally. "I will show myself out."

"One thing," Erik said as the man began to turn. His eyes held those of Alfred Joubert's for a long moment. "If there is a leash and a muzzle for Raoul de Chagny, I suggest you put it on him. I would hate for there to be consequences if he chooses to irritate me again."

"Raoul de Chagny holds no more interest for me than a dog with fleas. My daughter is my only priority. If you still quarrel with him, then you are a man to be pitied. He is inconsequential." He paused again, and a look of regret passed over him. "Tell Gustave that his Uncle Alfred says hello."

Erik watched him leave, feeling discomposed, and realizing that he was almost certainly right. Raoul had lost absolutely everything. His fortune, his dear wife, and the son he had never really had. Though he could take no credit for the first thing, the loss of the second and third did prick at a conscience Erik had not known he possessed. He felt an almost overwhelming need to see Gustave just then, and laid aside his papers to go upstairs. He found Gustave lying on the floor with sheet music scattered around, carefully printing notes. Gustave glanced up as his father entered the room, and the sheets subsequently were turned over, hiding from him their secret melody.

Erik ignored the pages as if they were not there, though for the second time in the space of half an hour, he felt deeply stung.

"I am going to my new workshop in town. Would you like to come?" he asked.

Gustave shook his head plainly. "I am in the middle of something."

"Oh." He had not considered being rejected, and tamped down that sharp feeling in his gut once more. "Perhaps tomorrow then. Though I had thought of taking in a picture show once I had inspected the building…."

"I've seen them all," Gustave replied, bending his head once more. "I will come see the building tomorrow. Maybe."

Erik left faced with his son's underwhelming response to his own needful maneuvering. He drove the car himself to the narrow two-storied building in Avignon, and opened a blue door on a quiet street across from a similar building on the other side with a plaque that read, 'The Venerable Heart Charity Organization'.

The space he had purchased was not very large, but the ground floor held a long workroom that was promising. He had long found the need to keep his hands occupied, and in the space of months since coming back to France, had found little things to fulfill the purpose. He had built an assortment of training and practice devices for Miss Fleck in the former ballroom, and constructed exercise equipment alongside Mr. Squelch that were meaningless to him yet useful to the strongman. He had designed all manner of things for Gustave from rockets to pendulums, and he still knew not whether they impressed the boy or if he even liked them.

He was still very much interested in automatons, but could not bring himself to build those resembling humans or animals. Before leaving Coney, he and Gustave had somberly laid the automaton Christine in a tomb he bought especially for her. The graveyard manager had thought it very odd indeed, but given the exorbitant amount of money he received, he had known better than to question him more than once.

For now he was gathering the supplies needed to make an orchestrion. He had seen one on Coney Island, though it was a loud, brassy, out of tune contraption designed to entertain but not to be enjoyed. Like all other mechanical music instruments, the music would come off of pinned cylinders or music rolls, but he would be creating his own music to put on the machine, not using the ones made commercially.

Perhaps he would create one exclusively for Gustave. A gift to his son - the gift of his music.

Of course, building such a machine correctly would take time. Time he was not sure he could spare. The second anniversary of her death was only months away, and with each passing day he grew less and less sure of his decision. He knew that he could not simply choose _that_ day to expire on. It would be too remarkable – Gustave would immediately know, and that was something he did not wish for. But it would not be long. Perhaps a year. Perhaps two. Just until he was sure that Gustave would be safe without him.

Squeals of laughter from the street drew him upstairs so he could look out the large window facing the building across from him. He was surprised, and dismayed, to see Selene Joubert surrounded by about ten laughing, screaming children as they stood outside the doors to the Venerable Heart. More of them were pouring out every second, and a line of women stood behind them, some of them scolding the children for being too loud. A man stood on the back of a large delivery truck, the sort used to bring milk in from the dairies, calling out names, and two other women stood by helping to hand out things. As each child stepped forward, they were handed a bundle of clothing and either a doll or a toy truck, depending on whether it was a boy or a girl. Erik watched Madame Joubert's animated face as the children ran to her, excitedly showing off their new possessions. She beamed at them and enfolded them into her arms. The women were next, and most of them came forward with less enthusiasm but each stopped before Madame Joubert and spoke to her before rushing off with the clothing clenched tightly to their chest, some of them dragging one or more children off when they left.

Erik watched until the last of them had gone, and there were no more things left to be handed out. Selene made a gesture that she was exhausted, and the man jumped down from the truck with a laugh. He climbed inside and pulled away, but the other two women stood talking to Selene in front of the charity house for quite sometime. He saw the moment she noticed his car in front of the building, looking up and down the street, before excusing herself and going back into the charity house.

"Coincidence, Madame?" he murmured to himself.

Perhaps it was time to have another conversation with Selene Joubert. It seemed he had little choice in the matter of her being in Gustave's life in any case.

* * *

><p>Just wanted to thank rappleyea since I have not done so yet: Thank you!<p> 


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Where are you taking me, Gustave?" Selene asked.

"You'll see," he returned with a mischievous smile. "It was Erik's idea."

"Oh?" Selene felt a sense of unease. Gustave had been secretive since he and his burly driver had picked her up, but thankfully they had not headed in the direction of Erik Younger's estate. She was taking to heart what her father had asked of her, and trying to avoid becoming involved with the man socially or otherwise. "And is your father going to be joining us today?"

He shrugged. "Probably."

"Hmm." Was all she said, and she saw the driver glance at her from the corner of his eyes. She studied his tattoos while he drove, finding the strange arcs over his shaven head fascinating. He had been nothing but polite to her, but poor Esmeé had nearly had the vapors when he had come to ring the doorbell.

Selene could not have been more surprised when they pulled up outside the Venerable Heart, where she had spent most of her time the day before. It had been like Christmas for both the women and children, though some of the women and older children had been too proud to show joy over receiving charity. Most of them had been simply thankful. There were a few who came back year after year, but the organization helped the women find employment when they could, after teaching them how to read and write, and assisted in any other skills where possible. The charity was open today, but Selene only came in two times per week since she had others to attend to.

"This is Erik's new workshop," Gustave said, pointing at a building across the road.

Ah. So that explained the vehicle they were currently riding in being parked nearby the day before. She had thought she recognized it, but she had been so busy it had been immediately forgotten.

Mr. Squelch opened the car door for them, and Selene climbed out cautiously. The building was half the size of the charity house with a thick blue door facing the street. Gustave ran up to it eagerly and lifted the large brass knocker three times. The door opened after a moment, and Erik Younger stood on the other side of it in almost total darkness.

"Good morning Gustave. Madame," he greeted in a quiet voice.

"And to you," she replied, stepping past him. Gustave had run ahead into the building, disappearing from view immediately. "What is it you do, Monsieur Younger?"

"Whatever pleases me."

He closed the door, but stepped in front of her, blocking entrance into the rest of the building. It felt as if the bottom dropped from her stomach as he looked at her, perhaps only a foot away. She stared back steadily, not willing to show that he intimidated her, though he was doing just that.

"I saw you across the street yesterday," he said quietly.

"Y-yes, I am there on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and at the equestrian pavilion on Fridays. Today is my day off."

"You work for a living, Madame?"

"Charity work," she clarified. "When one is an heiress, one does not need to work."

"How...wonderful for you."

"Did you think I was spying on you, Monsieur?" she asked, her eyebrows arching up into her hairline.

"It crossed my mind."

She laughed briefly. "I have better things to do. If that was why you asked Gustave to bring me here...well..."

"Not at all, Madame. It is my decision to keep you close when Gustave wishes to see you. He wanted to see you today, so here you are. Despite the warning your father gave to me."

Her eyes widened. "My father?"

"Oh yes. He came to warn me. As he should have. Surely he advised you to stay away?"

She lifted her chin. "I am a grown woman. I am not a child."

He made some low sound, that might have been a laugh, but it did not sound as if he agreed with her. He turned suddenly and disappeared around a corner. He really could be quite frightening when he had a mind to - and just when she had begun to think that he was not! All at once her legs began to fail her, and she leaned against the door behind her for support. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them he was standing at the corner staring at her.

"Are you coming, Madame, or shall I have Squelch take you home?"

Feeling foolish, Selene followed him this time down a small hallway, then through a door that appeared before him so suddenly she almost ran into his back. He glanced at her, obviously annoyed, then stepped through the door. She blinked against the artificial brightness of the room as they entered. A large chandelier hung in the center of the room, and it was quite unlike any she had ever seen before. It was made of spare parts of what looked to have been a clock. Gustave was seated at an enormous upright piano, that turned out was not a piano at all, but a violin virtuoso machine. Or what was left of it anyway. Gustave turned the wheel on it, grinning up at her, and it began to play despite missing its outer casing.

"Oh!" Selene exclaimed, covering her ears at the racket it produced. "How...interesting."

She glanced at Erik Younger, afraid of offending him, but he too was covering his ears with a grimace on his face.

"Gustave, turn it off," he said over the din.

The boy stopped the machine, looking perplexed. It died slowly, creating a harsh grating sound as if someone was bashing thirty violins together while simultaneously beating on a piano with a sledgehammer. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing - according to the man I bought it from."

"Then there's something wrong with his ears," Gustave replied. "Why did you buy it?"

Erik strode over to the machine and opened up a compartment at the top, revealing three violins on a wheel. He spun them around. "I'm going to rebuild it into an orchestrion."

"Like at the fair?"

"Well," Erik said, his mouth quirking a little. "I hope that mine will be slightly more sophisticated than that."

"Will it have your music on it?" Gustave asked solemnly.

"If you like," Erik responded casually.

The boy turned around, studying the contraption carefully. He did not respond to Erik again, and watching the two of them, Selene sensed that there was a great deal of distance between father and son. The rest of the room had stacks of crates filled with various implements and gadgets. It all looked awfully foreign, and she peered around, unabashedly nosy, until she spied the loft above them.

"What's up there?" she asked, pointing.

"It is empty for now," he replied, sounding greatly annoyed. "You may look around."

She did so, eager to be away from him so she could breathe. Each time he glanced at her she felt like a coward, because it was so very hard to meet his gaze. The side of his face that was not covered by the mask was only slightly less rigid than the side wearing one. He seemed to be daring her to make some sort of comment about it, or perhaps about the past, but she was not about to venture down either line of conversation.

Selene climbed the spiral, wrought iron staircase that led into the loft, one side over looking the street, and the other hanging over the workroom. She went over the half circle window that was from the floor to the ceiling of the loft and glanced down at the charity house. Monsieur de Turres was walking out the door with Madame de Turres, most likely going to the cafe down the street for coffee, as they did almost every day. She pictured Monsieur Younger watching her while she was unaware, and shivered slightly. She turned away from the window to study the wide plank floors of the loft and the lambent patterns where the sun struck the wood. It was peaceful here, but she wondered why he had bought a place in the city when it was obvious he preferred not to socialize. His home must have six or seven rooms that could have accommodated his building such a machine, yet it seemed he had deliberately isolated himself.

Finding the loft very hot and stifling, Selene returned downstairs, surprised to find both Erik and Gustave arms deep in the contraption, taking more of its parts out and examining them. There were bits of wire and wood scattered across the floor, and Gustave's once white shirt was now streaked with dirt, as was his hair and face. It was a Gustave she was more familiar with, as the child she had known before he went to America had been constantly exploring and getting himself into all sorts of trouble in the name of adventure.

"Want to help?" he asked cheerfully.

"Oh, I'd better not. Girls don't like getting dirty, you know," she replied amusedly.

"Yes they do," Gustave responded. "There was a girl I knew in America, her name was Molly O'Hare, and she was always dirty."

"Gustave, there is a difference in being poor and dirty, and being purposefully dirty," his father replied quietly. "Molly O'Hare's mother probably could not afford to buy her new clothes."

"She had twelve brothers and sisters," Gustave confided. "They were all dirty. Her big brother Patrick punched me right in the eye. I didn't like him, but Molly was nice."

Selene crouched down beside Gustave. "And why did Patrick O'Hare punch you in the eye?"

Gustave blushed. "I kissed a girl that he liked. Betsy Thompson."

"Ah." Selene glanced up at Erik who frankly looked dumbfounded. He gave her a look, indicating he wanted her to continue. "And was she pretty, this Betsy?" she asked, surprised by his gesture, and by his attentiveness to Gustave's response.

Gustave nodded, his expression serious. "She had blue eyes, like yours, but sometimes when she was mad they would turn purple as an aster flower. And she had pretty yellow hair. She liked me too, but Patrick was mean and she said I'd better not kiss her again or he'd wallop me good."

Selene ruffled his hair. "Eleven years old, and already quiet the charmer." She sighed, then glanced up at Erik. He was staring into the machine, pulling things out of it with a controlled fury. She guessed that this was the first time he had heard this story. Was he angry because Gustave had shared it with her instead of him? Or angry that it had happened at all?

"Gustave, would you like to meet some friends of mine?" she asked. "It's just across the street, at the charity your Aunt Marie supports."

He nodded eagerly, and she dusted him off the best that she could, avoiding Erik Younger's eyes until the last possible moment.

"I will bring him back in an hour, if that's alright with you."

"One hour," he repeated, never taking his attention from the machine.

* * *

><p>Erik let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them. He was angry. And jealous. How often had he asked Gustave where the black eye had come from? Too many to count. And yet he volunteered the information to the de Chagny woman without much prodding. He had been failing at this from the very beginning. Christine had obviously known how terrible he would be at this. She had kept it from him, though of course she would not have known until several months after her marriage. Perhaps she had not even known until Gustave had shown his musical talent. Erik had often wondered what her reaction had been the day she realized that her precious husband had not fathered her child. When she had first realized who had lured her to America, he had seen in her eyes what she thought of him, and perhaps she was right to feel that way. Even if she loved him, as she said, Christine had not wanted him to know Gustave's true paternity. If he'd been capable of rational thought at the time he might have let it go. It would have been for the best. Gustave would still have his mother. Raoul would still have his wife. And he would still have nothing.<p>

He ripped the guts from the machine with new intensity, anger taking him over for the first time since her death. It was nice to feel something other than guilt or grief, and he allowed it to flow through his veins, satisfied with it and hungering for more to fuel his rage. He was angry with himself for failing - for taking Christine away from someone who needed her more than he did. He was angry with Madame Joubert for the way Gustave spoke to her so easily, and because she was not Christine. Because she was beautiful and he was being forced to spend time in her company, and because she would not meet his eyes. Mostly he was angry because she was a damned de Chagny, and he had allowed her to worm her way into Gustave's heart and into his life.

He could not even extract the smallest bit of humor from Gustave. His son would not share his music with him, his feelings or fears, the story of his first kiss.

And yet he could share them so easily with Madame Joubert, with whom he had only recently reacquainted himself again after a year and a half. Madame Joubert, who claimed that she had been friends with the woman he loved, and who threatened to take his child away if she thought he was an unfit father. It was as if his beloved had sent Gustave a guardian angel, one who would watch over the father of her child, while he watched over the rest of the world.

"Christine." He said her name for the first time in a very long time. It was like a sharp knife, hearing it, and with the sound, her image was conjured in his mind as clear as it ever was.

Except now when he thought of her, he could no longer fantasize of a life with her as he had done before she came to America. He did not daydream about her, and when he dreamed at night it was always of her death.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he whispered. "I can't even ask."

He had managed to compose himself by the time Gustave came back with Madame Joubert an hour or so later, his face shining with enthusiasm. Erik didn't look at Madame, only at his son.

"Hand me those pincers," Erik said, pointing to his toolbox.

Gustave handed them over. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"May I go visit Aunt Marie tomorrow?"

"What brought this on?" he asked, glancing at Madame Joubert. She was pretending to be greatly interested in a box of spur gears. "Madame, there is no need to manipulate my son in to asking a question you should be asking."

She turned to face him, two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. She was glaring.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Gustave, did Madame put you up to asking if you could visit your aunt?"

She placed her hand protectively over his son's shoulder. "It is not right to put him on the spot this way. I did not put him up to asking. He wants to go."

He glanced at his son. "Am I being unkind, Gustave?"

The boy's face paled, and his dark eyes were fixed on the floor. He shook his head slowly, but the gesture was not convincing. Erik got to his feet, and realized the anger had not really left him at all, but was still thrumming through him at an astonishing velocity. Yet he was no longer angry with himself. He was quite angry with Madame Joubert.

"Only cowards manipulate women and children, Monsieur Younger," she said quietly, looking straight into his eyes very deliberately. He saw hatred there, coiled with fear. No respect. No warmth or compassion. He had not expected there to be, but the utter fury in her gaze left him wounded. "I should not say in front of Gustave what I think of those who terrorize them."

"I think you'd best go now, Madame," he returned. "Before it crosses your mind to say something unfortunate."

She held Gustave against her protectively, and the look of fear on the boy's face was enough to make him sick. Words jammed up in his throat as shame burned hotly beneath his skin. Who was he to care if Gustave visited his aunt? He would not be around to endure it as the boy forgot about him. Perhaps it would be best if that happened now, rather than later. He could make a stipulation in the will that Gustave be allowed contact with this portion of the family only. But the knowledge that both Gustave and Selene Joubert feared that he would...what? Strike them? Murder them? That alone hurt more than it should have.

He should probably offer some words of comfort to Gustave but he did not know any. What would he say? _I promise I won't kill you? I would never hit you? I love you?_

He turned back to the machine. "Do whatever pleases you, Gustave. For now, have Mr. Squelch take you home."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Selene preferred the park in the early morning hours, when the streets were still asleep, and before the sun had begun to rise up and disburse the fog that descended on the city. It lingered this morning, defiant and thick as a dust storm, the droplets of mist coating her face with its fresh dew. She walked as slowly as Chaos, her six year old Bordeaux Mastiff, would allow – which really wasn't slow at all. He was generally well mannered for a dog his size, but today he did not seem interested in a stroll. He wanted to _run, _and considering she'd decided to wear a hobble skirt, one of her favorite fashions, it was nearly impossible to keep up with him. Next time she would wear something more practical when walking him.

"Chaos," she panted, tugging ineffectively at the leash. "Slow down, boy. Please."

The dog growled and stopped suddenly, and she toppled over at the sudden loss of tension in the leash. She landed on her hands, one of them awkwardly twisting beneath her, and she howled in pain as the leash around it was snatched away. Chaos growled one last time, then sprang away from her, into the fog.

"Come back here!" she yelled. "You stupid dog!"

Rolling onto her side she peered through the gloom after him, feeling foolish. Her wrist throbbed as she struggled to her feet, dismayed to find that she had landed in a puddle of water.

"Perfect," Selene muttered. "That's just perfect."

"Madame?" a voice called to her.

She froze, uncertain which direction it had come from. The fog still rolled along the pavement, and even though it was morning, the place was deserted. Just a year ago some madman had stabbed his wife in this park. The world seemed to grow madder with each passing day, and she had no desire to become anyone's victim. "Who's there?"

"Erik Younger," the voice replied, and suddenly his shape took form in the slowly growing light. "Are you alright, Madame Joubert?"

She felt a flare of panic, immediately wondering why he happened to be in the same park as she, but pushed it aside. Surely he had no reason to harm her. She cursed her dog one last time, and stared down at her reddened skin as she wondered what she ought to do. She glanced towards him, and saw that he appeared genuinely concerned and almost...afraid? Of what? Approaching her? She smiled painfully at him.

"My wrist…"

He approached her quickly, his expression impassive as he began to examine her without touching. "Where is the nearest doctor? I will take you there."

"No. I have to find my dog first," she said, looking round. "Have you seen him?"

"That was a dog?" he asked mildly. "He tried to tackle me."

Selene noticed then the two squarely placed muddy paw prints on his morning coat. She gave him a guilty smile when he glanced down with an annoyed expression. She realized suddenly that he always looked either annoyed or uncomfortable. She wondered if he had ever smiled. The mask aside, he was a very severe looking man. Chaos barked just then, his loud voice disturbing the peaceful morning, causing her to jerk in surprise.

"I'm sorry. He gets very excited sometimes."

Monsieur Younger turned and whistled once, sharply, and she could hear the dog lunging towards them, panting happily as he skidded to a halt at their feet.

He barked again, looking at them both in playful anticipation as Erik took his leash.

"Doctor," he said pointedly.

"I'm sure it's a sprain. You don't have to take me, Monsieur, I'm sure you are busy."

His eyes hardened. She was certain she had offended him, but she wasn't sure how or why. Since their encounter at his workshop he had been remote and cold towards her, and she had done her best to ignore that he existed. Poor Gustave, caught between two stubborn adults, did not know how to behave. She resolved to make some sort of peace with his man, but she had no idea where to begin.

"I _will _take you home. I will not show myself to anyone, Madame, do not worry. I have always been very skilled at remaining unseen."

"I meant no offense," she said softly. Indeed, she had only offered to go alone because she thought he would find it a nuisance to accompany her. She was a relative to a man he must hate very much. To the man who had raised his son, and married the woman that she knew he probably still loved. "I live with my aunt; it's three blocks this way. If it would not disturb your morning walk, would you _please_ take the dog for me?"

Erik nodded once, then led Chaos in the direction they had come from. Selene fell into step beside him in silence, her wrist cradled against her stomach. It was an uncomfortable silence, mostly because she felt very embarrassed to have been thrown on the ground like a child, and he had been practically mauled by her dog. Her dress and his coat were probably ruined beyond repair.

"How is Gustave?" she asked softly after they had gone nearly a block. "I mean - how is he truly? Has he coped well since…..?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "He misses her."

"So do I."

Monsieur Younger looked at her from the corner of his eyes. She was on the unmasked side of his face, and was again startled by how green they were. His unshaven jaw was just at that point that made men seem irresistibly rough around the edges, and Monsieur Younger was no exception. Foolish, to think of him that way, but one could not help reflecting on the appealing characteristics of a man when it was obvious that there were parts of himself he deemed completely _un_appealing. Not that his handsomeness or lack thereof made a difference – he was dangerous any way that you looked at him. "I did not expect Christine to make friends with _your_ family."

"It was not easy for her. It took her a long time to accept that those in the family who snubbed her would always treat her that way. Once she realized that, it seemed she was much happier."

"And you were not one of them, Madame Joubert?"

"She was a dear friend," Selene whispered tightly. "The only one in the family who ever understood me. She never asked me to compromise what I thought was right or fair. She never treated me as if I were different from the rest of them."

He looked at her strangely, examining her quickly. He did not comment, and she realized how he had taken her words. She laughed slightly.

"I see you're intrigued. I was the willing victim of a scandal - thus explains a self-imposed exile to Avignon, instead of living in Paris with the rest of my family and the beau monde."

"And your parents? Did they treat her well?" he asked, not commenting on or questioning her past.

"No. My father a little more than my mother. My Aunt Marie and I adored her and Gustave." She peered at him. "We knew, of course - about her time at the Opera."

"So then you must know who I am," he said flatly.

"Yes."

"And yet you are still foolish enough to come to my home, pretending to be answering an ad that I placed in the paper. What would you have done, if Gustave had not been present?"

"I would have answered whatever questions you had for me, and then been sent on my way as all the other women before me were. And I assume the ones after me as well."

"You assume correctly."

"I think it is very wise, what you are doing. Gustave needs a mother. But…."

"What?"

"So soon? You seem to be in an awful rush."

"I have little choice. He needs the comfort and tenderness that only a woman can give him."

Staring at Erik Younger, Selene did not doubt his words. His entire demeanor suggested that he was an unyielding man, and yet he recognized that his son needed something, and he sought to give it to him. It made her ache, knowing that Christine would never see Gustave grow up and become a young man. Never see her grandchildren, or have the chance to be happy.

"Do you truly think taking an ad is the best way to find such a woman?" Erik looked at her sharply, and she winced. "I only mean to say that you could attract the wrong_ sort _of woman. You are obviously wealthy, and certain women would appreciate that only, and not recognize what a blessing Gustave could be to their life. These things best occur naturally, don't they?"

"These things?" he repeated, his tone bitter. "I would not know, Madame. I have only loved one woman in all my time on this earth. Another is not going to waltz in my life at this point. I am not marrying for love, as in the way a woman and man love one another. I am marrying for the bond of woman and child. Mother and son. Somewhere out there is someone who will love Gustave, and keep him safe, and I will have her hand in marriage before my life is done."

"I'm sorry," Selene said gently. "I am only concerned for him."

He glanced at her, his expression relenting a little. "You may visit Gustave anytime that you like, Madame. Understand that the privilege may be revoked at anytime."

"Thank you," she replied, realizing that it was his only way of apologizing. "I must say that I am surprised that you allow Gustave to visit with our family. Why are you?"

"Normally I would not." He drew Chaos up short when the dog began to lunge towards a stray cat. "If I tell you something, will you keep it silent, Madame? Not one word to anyone, or you will never see Gustave again."

"I promise."

He stopped, and looked her in the eyes. "I mean it, Madame. Not one word."

"You have my word, Monsieur Younger. I will not tell a soul."

His eyes flickered briefly, and she could see an infinite amount of pain in them. Pain, and perhaps a little fear.

"I am dying," he said quietly.

She covered her lips with her fingers. He was as calm as ever, yet she could see a storm of emotions in his eyes. Sadness? Fear? "Poor Gustave!" she cried out, suddenly thinking of the boy who secretly worshiped a father who did not even notice.

"Yes. Poor Gustave." He looked away from her, his expression hidden by the mask. "So now you see why it is most urgent that I find a mother for him."

"Surely you know that I would take him, Monsieur – if - .or when it comes to that."

"He will be legally bound to a mother, and she will be bound to him. I will not have Raoul de Chagny interfering. An arrangement with you would be out of the question," he said firmly.

"Is that why he came?"

"Yes. He thinks he can just walk into the boy's life, as if the last year has never happened. As if he ever had any right to him at all."

She sensed that defending her uncle at this moment would destroy any affinity he felt towards her. It was hard to believe she was talking to this man, a man who had committed crimes, who provoked her and frightened her intentionally. A man who obviously knew nothing about raising a child, or of courting a woman. She wondered if Christine had ever truly loved him, or if she had been merely fascinated by him. It was something to think about, because he was a very intense and interesting man, even if his gaze did cause a knot of worry to tighten just a little each time it lingered for more than a few seconds. Yet she could see that he grieved for Christine still. Grieved in a way that broke her heart, and it seemed he might not have to grieve for much longer.

He looked very tired now. His eyes were weak, and his skin was pale. If he became any thinner he wouldn't be able to stand. As it was, Chaos was tugging at the leash, and each movement made it difficult for him to stay there with her, on a quiet Paris street well before anyone else in the city was awake.

"Come inside," she said suddenly. She pointed to her aunt's residence. "You're absolutely exhausted, Monsieur. I will prepare some tea, and arrange for a driver to bring you home."

"That is not necessary," he replied immediately.

"I insist."

"No thank you. I must get home."

"It will be light out soon, and it is at least three miles to your residence, and you were kind enough to see me home safely after my dog mauled your coat. Come inside. Please."

She was surprised when he nodded, but she could tell he was not happy about it. He followed her up the steps of her aunt's modern home, then through the front door.

"You can release his leash now. He's probably eager for his food bowl," she said, leaning over to turn the lights on. Erik did as she said, though Chaos stayed close by, wagging his tail with renewed violence. She saw him reach down and discreetly scratch him behind the ear, and Chaos' tongue lolled out of his mouth in pure bliss. It was still dark and silent in the house, most likely only the kitchen maids were awake. Selene led Erik into the parlor and tugged on the bell pull. "Please, sit down."

He hesitated for so long that she thought he might simply leave, but eventually he sat, choosing a chair furthest away from her. He turned his face, hiding his mask as they heard someone enter the room.

It was Esmeé, her personal maid, and she took in the sight of her mistress's ruined dress with a sound of dismay. "Madame! What happened to you?"

"Chaos pulled me over," she said calmly. "Could you ring for a doctor? I hurt my wrist. I am sure it is a sprain, but I need something for the pain. And have some tea brought up. Monsieur Younger was kind enough to escort me home."

"Of course."

The maid left immediately, never looking in Erik's direction.

"Is there someone at your home right now?" Selene asked him.

"Yes."

"You may have one of our drivers take you home, or you may use our telephone to call your residence. My aunt has one of those hideous automobiles."

"You don't like them?" Erik asked, sounding surprised. "I think they're splendid."

"They make an awful racket, and they smell terrible. I am not a great fan of all of this new technology. Yet I cannot deny how wonderful it is to get in a car and reach Paris in two or three days, depending on the weather, or call my mother and talk for an hour instead of subjecting myself to visiting in person and facing one of her garden parties. I prefer Avignon."

He glanced up at the ceiling, his expression a bit apprehensive. "Will your aunt be awake soon?"

Selene smiled. "Oh, no. Not before noon, at the very earliest. And you needn't worry about her, Monsieur Younger. She's very sweet, but she's forgetful. She has her days when she can remember everything, but they come less and less now."

"If your family finds out that I was here, what would they do?"

"We're just having a conversation, Monsieur. You assisted me home." Selene looked away when he stared at her intently. "I do not see how my visitors are their business, in any case. Do you know that my uncle had never once visited me here before last week? If not for Christine and Gustave, I would never have seen him. He and my mother were never particularly close. Not affectionately anyway. The scandal of his marrying an impoverished, uneducated opera singer did not help matters - society's description of Christine, not mine. My father despises him now."

"Oh?" Erik asked interestedly.

"My uncle had a great deal of debts, as I'm sure you are aware. After he returned from America, my mother convinced my father to pay them. It looks bad on the family name, you see, to have debt collectors calling all hours of the day and night. They were about to put him in prison. Our ancestral home is vacant. No one can afford to maintain such a residence, least of all Uncle Raoul, and my mother does not want it even though she cannot bear the thought of losing it. I understand my uncle is staying with whomever will allow him inside their home for a few weeks respite."

"Hmm. You do not sound as if you care much for the family name, Madame Joubert."

"Aristocracy is dead in France, in case you haven't noticed. The de Chagny name is the only one who bears an honorary title in my family now, such as it is, and my father is not of noble blood at all."

"And yet blue blood still runs very deep," he commented, taking a look around the room. "I am sure your dead relatives on the wall over there are rolling in their graves."

Selene turned to look at Philippe, the Comte de Chagny, her grandfather. He had been executed during the Commune. His body had never been found. His dark, hawkish gaze was not dear to her. She had never met the man; he had died over ten years before she was born. The woman next to him, however, was Grand-mère de Chagny. She had been a perfect lady. Selene had wanted to be like her more than any other member of her family.

"Some of them," she replied neutrally. "What of your family, Monsieur?"

"Gustave is my only family."

"You are lucky to have him."

He inclined his head, but seemed lost in thought. Esmeé brought in a tray, telling them that the doctor had been sent for. She poured the tea and left, glancing at Erik this time with some degree of fascination. He never once looked at her, and she fled when Selene looked at her sharply in reproach.

"Tea, Monsieur Younger? Oh, it's very hot!"

"Here…I will…," he offered awkwardly, seeing that she was having a hard time holding her cup. It was the right one she had fallen on, and she didn't seem very coordinated with the left. He sat beside her, ready to catch the drink should it begin to fall. He moved back once she had finished, holding his own saucer between his thumb and finger but not drinking.

"Where is that telephone, Madame?" he asked after an uncomfortably long silence.

"Just there, in the hall," Selene said, gesturing with her free hand.

He left, and then she heard his voice speaking very curtly into the receiver for a moment. When he returned, he did not sit, preferring to walk around the room, staring up into the eyes of her ancestors with what looked like derision. She could not blame him, really. If he had been born a hundred years earlier, and without the deformity he kept hidden, she thought he would have made an excellent Jacobin revolutionary. He was certainly formidable.

"I had an interesting thought, Monsieur," Selene said carefully. "Would you care to hear it?"

Looking suddenly nervous, he nodded. "Go on."

"I think I could assist you in searching for a wife."

"A mother for Gustave," he corrected automatically. "The marriage will be in name only."

"Mother," she amended, hiding her surprise. "I know many unmarried ladies. And they would also know many unmarried ladies. And my aunt has many friends, and they have granddaughters."

"What about your father?"

"What about him? He does not control my life. I am thirty years old. I am in full possession of my inheritance, and while it looks to some as if my aunt is a chaperone to me, in truth it is I who am a companion to her. She is losing possession of her mental faculties, the poor dear. Strange, that it was never noticed until I moved here with her. I suppose we were not as observant as we should have been."

"You would invite the wrath of your uncle if you assist me in any way," Erik said quietly.

"His wrath is not very formidable these days, Monsieur Younger. He is without honor. He has no right to be indignant after the way he discarded his wife and son so readily. He left them long before he abandoned them in America."

Erik shrugged, seeming to say, 'so be it'.

"She would need to be mature. Educated. Musical." He seemed discontent with the expression, finding it inadequate. "I want someone like _her_. Not in appearance. In character. For Gustave's sake. You understand, Madame?"

"I do. I even know many educated and musical ladies. I can't promise you _will _be successful. Only that I would like to help - for Gustave."

"For Gustave," he agreed softly.

"Monsieur Younger, there is a car waiting for you outside," Esmeé announced suddenly.

"It has been a most enlightening morning, Madame Joubert. I trust that your wrist will heal quickly."

"Thank you," Selene murmured, surprised as he made a formal bow. He passed Esmeé, revealing his face for the first time. To her credit, the girl did not swoon or gasp or shriek, but once he left, her eyes widened and fixed on her mistress, full of questions.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Selene began visiting Gustave once per week, often coming mid-morning and taking him to visit her aunt Marie, or sometimes she stayed with him at the manor while Monsieur Younger created in his workshop. She wondered now if he had leased the building so that she would be compelled to keep Gustave nearer Mr. Squelch, but she no longer questioned him. It seemed as if a truce had been offered, however tentative, and she had made good on her promise to assist him in finding a mother for Gustave. She had made a list of everyone eligible that she knew, and had come up with a list of decent women that she thought would be open minded enough to consider Monsieur Younger's suit.

Today she had asked Gustave to take her around Monsieur Younger's land and show her all of his favorite places for exploring. He certainly had more than one, though he refused to go near the lake, even when she asked him to.

"I don't like the water," he said stubbornly. "I don't know how to swim."

"Well you shall certainly learn," Selene replied off-handedly.

"No. I don't want to." The vehemence and fear in his voice surprised her. She remembered him as a child who wanted to do anything and everything all at once. She knelt next to him in the immense field of grass behind the manor and studied his expression.

"Why ever not?"

His jaw tightened, and his small chin thrust out. He looked so suddenly like his father that Selene nearly laughed aloud, but behind the bravado, there was an unknowable fear.

"Everyone should learn to swim, Gustave. It is really very easy. Even if you do not swim for pleasure, you need to learn how."

"Erik said that I do not have to, so I do not."

"What if I promised you something in return?"

"Like?" he asked suspiciously.

"Anything within reason."

His eyes brightened considerably after a few moments of hard thinking. "Would you swing on the trapeze?"

"On the what?"

"The trapeze! Erik built it for Miss Fleck. Come, I will show you!"

He raced ahead of her through a door on the terrace that she had never been through before that led into a very large, and mostly empty ballroom. A net, the sort for catching falling bodies in the circus, was suspended several feet above the floor, but it was the silver, narrow swing that gripped her attention, so high in the air she could scarcely see it. Miss Fleck, the stick-like bird woman, sat nonchalantly on a rope she had twisted about her bare legs.

"Miss Fleck! Madame Joubert wants to come up and swing!" Gustave called excitedly, obviously forgetting his own part in the bargain.

"Have you been doing this long, Miss Fleck?" Selene asked dubiously.

"Mr. Y brought a trainer from the Far East to teach me these things," Miss Fleck said, from high above the ground. "I performed three shows a night at Coney."

"How interesting," Selene murmured, her heart stopping as the young woman slid down the rope upside down. "Couldn't I just-"

"You promised," Gustave said emphatically. "If you will learn one trick, then I will go swimming with you."

"Oh, very well. Miss Fleck? Would you mind showing me how to swing on the trapeze?"

The woman stopped at eye level with her, still hanging upside down. She smiled a smile too big for her small face. "I'd sure love to!"

Miss Fleck twirled slightly, then let go with her feet, performing a small twist in midair, then landed to face Selene directly.

"Just something simple, really. What would be easiest?"

"The ropes aren't a good idea for a beginner."

When she pointed to the swing, Selene felt her knees begin to quiver.

"We'll climb up over here," Miss Fleck said, taking her by the arm. "You're sure about this, Madame? You look a little ill."

"That's because I am," she whispered. "I promised Gustave though. Please, just go on."

"Alright," the other woman said, looking unconvinced. She started up the ladder, checking occasionally to ensure that Selene was following her.

They arrived at a small, squarely built platform near the top, and Selene shut her eyes as dizziness began. She heard Miss Fleck talking, but it sounded as if she was speaking through a pipe. The woman took the swing from the rail, shaking it and tugging on it, explaining how sturdy it was, and how Mr. Y himself had attached it to the ceiling. This high up, it was incredibly hot, and the heat rolled over her in waves.

Then Miss Fleck began to demonstrate how the swing worked, by jumping off of the platform with the bar in her hands and performing a somersault in mid air, hooking the bar behind her knees.

"Oh my God," Selene moaned, sinking to her knees. She grabbed a pole in the center for support, growing nauseous as she watched the aerialist swing to and fro, to and fro. "Miss Fleck! Miss Fleck, stop that!"

The woman hoisted herself with ease onto the swing, moving slowly back and forth, as if she were a child on a playground.

"I knew this were a bad idea. Do you want me to fetch Mr. Y?"

"No!" Selene shook her head. "No, just come and help me down, please?"

With a shrug, Miss Fleck began to swing to and fro once more, until the swing became a pendulum, and she vaulted back onto the platform.

"What's wrong Cousin Selene?" Gustave asked from down below.

"N-nothing. Just a little more afraid of heights than I had imagined."

"The first time is a little scary," he replied grudgingly. "Next time it will be easy, I promise!"

"Next time," she whispered to Miss Fleck. "If I ever reach the ground again, I'll never leave it."

"S'alright, Madame. Just turn around, just so, and you'll go back down the way you came."

"What the devil? What do you mean she's getting on the trapeze? Miss Fleck!"

Selene cringed at the voice booming from the floor. "Drat."

"Yes, Mr. Y?" the aerialist asked in a small voice.

"Is that Madame Joubert there with you?"

"Yes, Mr. Y."

"Bring her down at once. _Safely_."

"Well that's the thing, Sir. She can't come down. Says she's too afraid. I think you should come up and fetch her yourself."

"What?" Selene tried to grab her, but the woman had jumped off the platform back onto her bar. She gave Selene a cheeky smile, then slid off the swing and fell into the net with a terrifying grace. "Get back here, you…you…"

"Name calling, Madame?" She turned to see Erik Younger's angry eyes peering at her from the entrance. He held his hand out to her.

"I do not need assistance."

"Then by all means, come down before you pass out from the heat." He stepped down one rung.

"Wait! Just wait, please." Selene scooted towards the edge of the platform until she reached him. Her fingers dug into his wrist, and he glanced up at her with a strange expression in his eyes. He pulled away, but she latched on tighter, feeling panic well up within her again. "Please do not let me fall."

"You're not going to fall," he replied, in what she supposed was a reassuring voice. He carefully removed her fingers form his arm. "Turn around and face the other way."

Her face turned red as she did so, Selene was forced to place her bottom right in front of Mr. Y and scoot backwards. She squeaked in surprise as she felt his hand touch her there, and she turned around to glare at him.

"My apologies, Madame. I only meant to guide you." The unmasked cheek was red, but whether from embarrassment or the heat, she was not sure.

"Perhaps you could guide my _leg_, or my _hip_."

"Perhaps next time you think of doing something idiotic, you will change your mind, or not be such a coward," he snapped back. "Turn around and get on the damned ladder. I have no time for this."

Selene did, feeling tears of embarrassment prick her eyes. She kept her eyes on the ladder as she crept down, one rung at a time. He had moved around the ladder to the opposite side, and was going down at the same rate, and at the same position as she was.

Erik cursed himself silently when he noticed her wet eyelashes and the bottom of her lip quivering just so. He could not move quickly down though because she was ploddingly slow, and it probably did not help her speed that her eyes filled with tears and spilled over onto her cheeks. He wondered at the way his body had briefly responded to her touch. Such a simple touch. Driven not by desire, but by fear, and he yet had immediately become lost in her tearful gaze. Until he had been reminded how unwelcome any advance, no matter accidental, would be.

"I truly did not mean to offend you by touching you," he muttered. "It will not happen again."

"It was your words I found more offensive," she said, concentrating on the rungs.

"Then I am sorry."

She glanced at him, stopping for a moment. She had never been this close to him before, in fact, she hadn't been this close to a man in a very long time. The proximity on the ladder forced them to touch in various places. Her arm brushed against his. Their toes competed for space on the rungs. Occasionally his arm came around her to keep her steady, and his hand touched her lightly, letting her know that he would not let her fall. Her breasts, which she had always thought rather lacking, poked into his chest through the ladder. His cologne began to fill her senses. It was very pleasing. The corner of his mouth on the right side was slightly puckered, giving him an ever-present scowl when his mouth was not moving. He stared back at her, and she wondered if he was having any startling revelations about her eye color or scent, or if her proximity had any affect on him at all. She shook herself mentally, making a vow that she would call on one of her gentlemen friends soon for a night out on the town.

"I should not have gone up," she whispered. "I'm terrified of heights."

"Why did you then?"

"Gustave said that if I learned one trick, he would go swimming with me."

His brow raised. "He said that?"

She nodded.

"And you offered to do this, so that he would go?" he asked softly.

"He is deathly afraid of the water. He should learn to swim so that he does not have to be."

Erik shut his eyes tightly for a moment, then looked down at his son. "Perhaps we can continue this conversation in a few moments?"

"Yes, of course."

She followed him the rest of the way down, their fingers brushing occasionally on the ladder. He took each step with her, ensuring she was going to make it safely, then he dropped the remaining four feet, landing easily on the marble floor. Selene jerked in surprise when she felt his hands grip her waist, and then he set her easily on the floor. Overcoming a blush of enormous proportions, she gave him a smile of what she hoped was gratitude and did not reveal just how flustered she was.

"There now, Gustave, you see-"

"I'm afraid we've been abandoned, Madame," he said apologetically. "I think Miss Fleck and my son feared I would have an ill temper as a result of fetching you."

She bristled. "Fetch me?"

"Assist," he amended somberly. His eyes flickered away. "I promised Gustave he did not have to learn how to swim if he did not want to. If you can convince him, however, I think it would be in his best interests. Provided you can swim, of course."

"I am a proficient swimmer," Selene informed him. "But I fear I would make a terrible aerialist."

Erik's brief smile was sincere. "I am glad you think so. If a bribe is what it will take for Gustave to swim, please do not commit yourself to any more dangerous tasks. For my sake. I could not imagine explaining to your family how you accidentally fell off a swing in my home and broke your neck."

She winced, as if considering that, among many other scenarios.

"Why will he not swim? That child has never been afraid of anything."

"I would prefer not to go into detail, Madame. It has to do with the night Christine died. Can we please leave it at that?" he asked quietly.

"Of course."

"Have you made any progress?" He asked, changing the subject abruptly.

Selene looked at him, puzzled. "Progress?"

His features sharpened. "You said you would help me find a mother for Gustave," he reminded her gruffly. "Have you made progress?"

"Oh!" She reached into a pocket of her dress and withdrew a sheet of paper. "I have, actually. Here are five names. I have not spoken to any of them yet."

He took the paper from her, frowning a little. "Some of these are titled."

"Yes. What did you expect? I said they were friends of mine or my aunt's."

"In my experience, women with a title are infinite trouble. And most are cold, indifferent creatures with no desire to be a mother other than to produce an heir. I want a true, honest to goodness mother for him. Not some spoiled aristocratic brat."

"And I left those friends off the list," Selene replied immediately. "The Marquise Savigne, Lydia Robey is a widow with a child of her own. Her husband left her without many funds. She has a pension that provides her daughter with a decent education, but her husband's title and entailments were passed on to a distant cousin. Madame Anne Prideaux is not titled at all, though like me, she has family who still claim theirs. She is very beautiful, and very kind. Very wealthy, so you would not need to worry about her being a fortune seeker. She is the legal guardian to a young girl-"

"And this one?" Erik asked, pointing. "I suppose she adopts stray kittens in her spare time and embroiders handkerchiefs for the poor. And perhaps this one-"

"If you did not want my assistance, all you had to do was say so," Selene interrupted coolly.

He gave a frustrated motion with his hand, balling up the paper. He turned away, his shoulders hunched with tension.

"Do you want me to try again?" she asked quietly.

"It is not your responsibility. I do not want this." I want Christine.

"Would you at least meet Madame Robey? Her name is at the top of the list, because she came to mind so easily. She is a wonderful mother already."

"I had not considered a woman with children of her own. What if she dislikes Gustave? What if her child does? I will not do anything to make him unhappy."

"Madame Robey is full of warmth and compassion. She has only been a widow for a year, the age of her child. There would be time for Gustave to bond with her daughter. That is what you want for him, correct? A family?" Her throat ached, and her heart begged her to ask again that Gustave be allowed to live with her after his death, but he was too stubborn. He would never allow it. And never in a million years would he marry her, or would she consent to it. Despite the slight attraction to him that she had felt, she knew what it was about him that had really caught her notice. He was dangerous. Dangerous in a way that roused some perverse, womanly response that she had no business thinking of. He would be a deeply passionate lover. But she did not think he would be generous or tender, and very unlikely would he be affectionate. He was the sort of man who only loved once, and loved well. She could most certainly see why Christine had fallen for this man.

He nodded, finally answering her.

"I will arrange a meeting here for next week, if Madame Robey will consent to it."

"Tell her as little as possible about my past."

"She may guess on her own," Selene said awkwardly. "She has never met Gustave, but his parentage..."

He leaned forward slightly, and stared at her without flinching. "You will also inform her that I am hideously ugly and that I wear a mask. Do you understand?"

Her mouth dropped open and tried to work, but she couldn't think of a thing to say. Did he truly believe that about himself? There were some things more powerful than being considered _pretty_.

"I am however, enormously wealthy, and Gustave is a good child. I think it will be an even trade. When I say marriage in name only, that is just what I mean. She does not have to fear unwanted...attentions from me," he continued, this time looking away.

Her mouth ran dry at that, and she stared at the floor, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She could not tell if he was lying for the sake of appearances, or if he truly meant that. What healthy man would willingly forgo intimate relations with his wife, if she were also willing? Perhaps his illness affected him in ways he did not wish to elaborate on.

"Should I inform her of your health?"

"Yes," he replied curtly.

"And may I tell her what is ailing you?"

His look turned bleak. "No. I'd rather not share that information. Just tell her that by late August, she may no longer have to worry about me."

It felt as if her heart stopped for a moment. "So soon?" she whispered. "That's only months away." Instinctively she reached out to touch his arm in sympathy, and he recoiled as if he thought she were about to strike him. Her hand fell away, and they stared at one another warily for a few moments, before he reopened the crumpled list.

"I have some business to take care of," he said dismissively. "Shall I show you out, Madame, or do you remember the way?"


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"What have you done?" Lydia cried in horror. She pressed her hands over her cheeks with a nervous laugh. "You've given my name to a reclusive, dying, hideously ugly old fool so that I can marry him? And he has a son that he wants me to care for?"

"He's not that old," Selene protested. "And hideously ugly were his words, not mine. He has very striking features, but he does wear a mask."

"A mask? A mask?" Her friend blinked. "All of the time?"

"Yes. I think so. I'm not with him all of the time, so I can't say for certain."

Lydia drew a deep breath and rolled her eyes heavenward. "I do wish you had asked me first, Selene. I am getting along quite well without a man in my life. Though I did love him, Anthony was wildly irresponsible."

"That's the point of this," Selene exclaimed. "He does not want a wife at all."

"You aren't making much sense."

"He wants a mother for Gustave. He is such a sweet boy, Lydia, and he has already suffered so much. His own mother died. She was murdered. Erik brought him back to France hoping to find someone similar to her..."

"And you thought of me?" Lydia said doubtfully.

"I thought of the best mother that I knew."

Her friend's features softened. "You really care for him, don't you? Why doesn't he marry you?"

"It's very...complicated. My family would never allow it, and he would never consider it."

Her friend grew very still. "You said he wears a mask?"

"Yes," Selene answered cautiously.

"As in...?"

Selene nodded once.

"You must be mad! All those things in the paper! I have not been to Paris in a long time, but I know very well that many have not forgotten." Lydia pressed her hands to her cheeks, and glanced at her child tucked away in a bassinet. "How could you think I would ever endanger my precious Lillie?"

"I have met Monsieur Younger. I would not be here if I believed those things in the paper."

Lydia looked at her sharply. "Those people died somehow, Selene. If not by his hands, then whose?"

"You will not consider it then?"

"Not in a million lifetimes," her friend replied firmly. "Not if he were the richest man in all of France."

Selene inclined her head graciously, but inside she was feeling anxious. How could she tell Monsieur Younger that the woman had refused to even meet with him, when she had all but begged him to agree to meet with her? He was certainly a tough sell, but she had not realized he would be so easily recognizable to someone like Lydia. Perhaps she was looking too high, socially speaking.

She returned home, feeling dejected, and knowing what needed to be done but finding it impossible to believe it might work.

* * *

><p>"I have a plan," Madame Joubert announced the next time they were alone. Erik had come out to the lawn after hearing shouts of laughter, and was shocked to find her playing a game of football with Gustave, and trying in vain to coax Squelch into playing. The other man was certainly athletic enough, but he was more accustomed to bending pipes in half rather than chasing a round ball. Madame Joubert, on the other hand, seemed to find it invigorating. She was barefoot, for whatever reason, and had she been a man would have probably served well on the football clubs that were now the rage around Paris. Her skirts were clenched tightly in her fists as she dodged expertly out of Gustave's path, and she gave a whoop of triumph just before nearly falling flat on her face. She was nimble, he'd give her that. And really quite beautiful, though it was not the first time he had noticed.<p>

Upon seeing him, she lobbed the ball down the field, laughing as Gustave raced after it, his small arms pumping against his narrow body. It pleased him to see his son so active, and the smile he gave her was filled with gratitude. She came at him with a whirlwind of dark caramel hair falling about her face, her deep blue eyes bright with laughter. The white blouse she wore clung to her skin, and it was all he could do not to stare directly at those places on her body. God above, she was beautiful, and becoming the worst sort of trouble. He had caved to most of her whims of late where Gustave was concerned, and truly not even minded much, because she was always quite cordial with him, even when he showed her his worst temper. She was, in essence, becoming someone he thought he could trust.

That was, until she mentioned the plan.

"A plan?" he repeated dubiously.

She nodded, her cheeks either flushed from exertion or nervousness. "Please listen to it completely before you say no."

Erik glanced down the field towards Gustave and Squelch as they kicked the ball back and forth. He turned slightly, indicating she should precede him indoors.

"I take it your Madame Robey was not receptive?"

She grimaced. "I fear we are going about this the wrong way, Monsieur Younger."

'We?' he thought with bemusement.

"Gustave," she said slowly. "He is the person these ladies must focus on. I wish to have him come over while I am having a tea party, and they can fawn over him as ladies are wont to do over a lad his age, and he will enjoy every moment of it. I can explain that he's lost his mother. If he is drawn to any of them, then I believe you should focus your attention on that person."

"And then let the hammer fall, as they say?"

"In a manner of speaking," she replied, not cowed by his glare. "I mean no disrespect to you."

"I am what I am, Madame Joubert. Nothing more, nothing less." He leaned towards her, his eyes narrowed to slits. "They will no doubt guess my identity."

"Let them."

"Let them, you say?" he echoed with a laugh. "And have me in Bicetre Hospital, or to be executed without trial? Well, it would certainly make things easier for me, but I do not want my son to be tainted with my colorful past."

"I have asked my father if there are any warrants out for your arrest. He said no. I told him it is in the best interests of our family to stand behind Gustave - and you - now, so that when you are gone..."

"You told him?" Erik demanded.

Selene glanced away. "Yes. He forbade me from assisting you, so I told him."

"I warned you, Madame. I specifically said..."

"Oh, pox on your idle threats. Gustave's future is too important for us to be arguing. Do you have another plan, Monsieur Younger? If you will not allow me to adopt him, and you certainly would not consider me as a candidate for marriage, then we must find him someone. Do you agree or not?"

Idle threats? He bristled visibly, and she rolled her eyes, expressing annoyance with him. "Tell me exactly what you have done and why, Madame."

"I told my father. Only him. I asked him to intervene in any ongoing investigations on your behalf. He said there were none. I asked him if there were any warrants, or any authorities who sought your arrest. He told me that no one is concerned about the events that transpired all those years ago. And that if anyone does suddenly become interested, he would take care of the matter."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "Who is your father, exactly?"

"He is the Senior Prevote of the National Police."

Erik felt a weakness go through him for a moment, quivering with shock. Her father could have as easily arrested him as warned him. His distrust for her grew suddenly, by exponential leaps. Alfred Joubert had not identified himself as a police officer. He knew very well who Erik was, and probably more than his daughter exactly what he had done.

"I think this conversation is finished, Madame," Erik said quietly, already thinking of the things that he would take with him, but wondering where they would go. Leave France again? The thought was unbearable, but he would take no chances.

"Don't look at me that way," Selene whispered. "I want to help you and Gustave. I would not have told him if I thought it would endanger you. Please, listen to me..."

"I have heard enough!"

She grasped his sleeve as he started to turn away, her expression entreating. Her hair, normally sophisticated and sleek, was tumbling down around her shoulders, and her blue eyes were brimming with such emotion that he was lost for a moment as he stared at her. Lost, and captivated. She looked absolutely precocious standing before him in her bare feet, tremulous and flushed. His gaze slid away from her delicate ankles to the thick Savonnerie carpet. Absently he noted that there were thin blades of grass attached to her soft white feet. How many men had lost their freedom by listening to a woman's pleas of innocence?

"This opera ghost business need not detract from your qualities," she was saying. "Everyone is fascinated by it. I think we should say enough about your past to intrigue people - and leave it at that. People are drawn to curiosities. Let them wonder."

"You're a madwoman. People are certainly curious, Madame, but none of them so curious as to agree to marriage with a freak. You are right to focus only on Gustave. I am the less desirable part of the package, there is no need to make it more so."

"My father..."

"Your father will have me under lock and key with Raoul de Chagny cheering him on. Would you put Gustave through that, Madame? Would you like for him to see me caged, like an animal?" he shouted at her. "And perhaps you would enjoy that as well. Then you would need not pretend to tolerate me for the sake of being near my son."

"My father," she said, louder than he, "is going to do as my mother asks and let the matter drop. He may not be happy about it, but I am going to help you find Gustave a mother. You can be sure he will be coming around, sticking his nose in occasionally, but he promised me that unless you do something dangerous or stupid, he will keep your identity safe."

Erik leaned down to glare at her. "The things said about me are true. There are many people whose lives I personally affected. Whose lives I destroyed. Do you think they have forgotten? Do you think that they will let the matter rest if I suddenly appear on the front page of the Epoque, announcing that I am reformed and looking for a wife? Even if your father is willing to let a murderer go free so that it does not inconvenience your family's reputation, it does not mean that the rest of them will! Is he willing to allow his daughter to associate with me? If so, your father is either incredibly corrupt or incredibly stupid."

"I am not doing this for you, I am doing this for Gustave," she pointed out. "You will be dead soon, so there is no sense prosecuting you. And my father is not stupid, nor is he corrupt. I bargained with him, and he accepted."

"A bargain?" Erik's brow rose.

"I have offered to make peace with a sister I have barely spoken to in three years, in exchange for him looking the other way."

"Corruption at its finest, Madame."

"He has no proof," Selene said quietly. "No one does."

"You mean beside the people who witnessed me burn down the theater and kidnap the soprano? What say your dear uncle of this?" Erik asked, his eyes suddenly gleaming with a delighted interest.

She frowned. "This is not about you and him."

"I didn't say it was. You truly intend to bring me into society? To accept me? Introduce me to your friends as the opera ghost? Do you think I am easy to train as a monkey?"

Her lips twitched. "Something like that. You are a man, after all."

A laugh rippled through him unexpectedly, startling them both. His gaze grew thoughtful after a moment. Was it possible? He had avoided polite society because they were all strangers to him, and strangers found him unapproachable and frightening. He found them boring and stupid. Would it be easy? No. Would he face rejection from some of them? Most certainly. But he could make an appearance, perhaps two, and without saying too much perhaps some stupid woman would be enticed to marry him for his money and mystery. He would not accept such a woman, however. Only the one who found his son delightful, and was compassionate enough to overlook his social status and his father's strange predilections. Could he find her within the space of time that he needed, and without being arrested? One could only hope.

"What will you tell them? Will you lie?"

Selene glanced away, coloring slightly. "I have never been a fan of deception, but any woman in her right mind would not willingly marry you if she knew the truth. Not because of your appearance. A good woman would look past that and see if there was a good man behind your physical flaws, whatever they may be. Everything that I know about your past says that I should not help you, that I should take Gustave away from you, even if it breaks the law or breaks his heart. At least then he would be safe."

"I hope there is a 'but' in there somewhere."

She turned her eyes back to him, and beheld him with something like pity and tenderness. It stole his breath, the way she looked at him. As if she could see _him._

"I trust my own instincts. I believe that Christine's death changed you. I believe that Gustave changed you. I like you, Monsieur Younger. You are a formidable bully, but I knew Christine's heart, and I know that she saw something in you that was good. I am not quite certain yet what it is, but I know it is there."

He stared at her, strangely moved by her simple words. Her death had changed him, but some days it was hard to tell if it was for the better or for the worst.

"We shall give it a try, Madame," he finally said.

Her smile, timid though it was at first, grew victorious. He nearly groaned at the ideas already clearly swimming in her head.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

His bark, Selene decided, was definitely worse than his bite. Though his bite, not literally speaking, would probably not be a thing to look forward to. Oh, he protested. He grumbled. Sometimes he even flew into fits of rage that shook her confidence, but he never once threatened her or struck her, and she began to notice cracks in his armor. He was stoutly defensive where Gustave was concerned. He refused to talk about his past either before the opera, or after it. He refused to talk about Christine, period. It was easier than she thought it would be to weave a tragic story about his love for the beautiful soprano, mostly because he would not share a fraction of the truth with her.

Selene took into account the newspapers, the gossip never printed, and the small fragments of information her own family had always known but never disclosed, and she cast aside the darker aspects of that story as mere rubbish. Of course, guilt did plague her. She had agreed to this, and in doing so Monsieur Buquet and Monsieur Piangi's killer would go unpunished, and their loved ones would never find justice. For Gustave, she would do anything. Erik had all but admitted to killing the men, but he would answer one day for his sins, as would everyone else. She firmly believed that, though she did not tell him so.

They did not tell Gustave their plan, and Erik had refused to reveal even one small detail of his relationship with Christine to his son. Gustave had, Erik said, been very curious from the beginning, but he was not sure how to explain their volatile relationship.

On the day before things were set into motion, Selene convinced Erik to allow Gustave to spend the night with her. Reluctant, recalcitrant as ever, he finally agreed after near constant wheedling. They spent the evening, she, her Aunt Marie, and Gustave, playing at cards and playing fetch with Chaos. Esmeé, who opened her curtains with the same gusto each day, awakened her hurriedly the next morning

"Madame, there was an incident this morning," she announced.

"Of what nature?" she asked groggily.

"Master Gustave...well...he wet his bed, Madame. I'm afraid it embarrassed him mightily, Madame. He wanted me to call his father."

"Oh." Selene sat up, blinking. "Where is he now?"

"Taking a bath, my lady. I have a younger sister, and she does the same thing, so I bade him to wash and then go on to breakfast."

"Just let the matter rest, Esmeé," she said quietly. "Clean the guest room only after he's gone down to breakfast, and do not mention this to him or anyone else."

"Yes, my lady."

Her maid bobbed her head, and prepared her morning toiletries for her as she took her own bath. Gustave was seated at the breakfast table alone, his plate filled with untouched food. Her Aunt, she knew, would sleep until it was time for tea.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. "What have you got there? Are those biscotti?"

He nodded, his expression full of anxiousness.

She helped herself to one off his plate, smiling mischievously. "Why, there is nothing wrong with these! You must eat, Gustave, otherwise your father may never let you come to spend the night again. He might think that I didn't feed you!"

Dutifully he ate a few bites, and she reached for her morning paper, watching him occasionally from the corner of her eyes. Gradually he began to eat more heartily, once he realized she was not going to ask him any questions about his night. She released him to explore the small courtyard behind the townhouse as she spent her morning reviewing her aunt's matters of business and answering correspondence. There were three letters from her sister Solange, and one from her mother, which she answered dutifully then set aside for postage. Her sister was very curious to meet Erik, naturally, but Selene did not encourage her in any way in that regard. The trust he gave her was fragile, if it existed at all. One hour with Solange and he would probably keep good on his promise to never let her see Gustave again.

Selene had only invited three ladies for tea, all of them the other women from the list she had given Erik with the exception of Madame Robey. Her aunt, still sleeping, was being watched over by a diligent maid. It would be quite off putting were she to come downstairs attired in anything less than what was proper. Selene discreetly studied the most promising of women, Anne Prideaux, as the other ladies chatted about their other friends who did not have the fortitude to be present while they were being discussed. She caught Selene watching her and gave a her generous smile.

"You're awfully quite today, Selene," she said, touching her hand briefly. "Is something wrong?"

"Distracted, I suppose," she replied with a tired smile. "I had a male visitor last night, you see."

"Oh!" Anne laughed, blushing. "How wonderful! Do give us details!"

"Well, he's handsome, and polite, and he plays the most wonderful music. Music that rivals that of angels, I do believe. You remember the Comtesse de Chagny? She had a child. Gustave. I kept him last night for his father." She lifted her cup of tea and gazed around the room at her friends.

"You mean your uncle?" Anne asked quizzically. "But I thought he disowned him."

"Oh, he did. Raoul is not his father, as you recall," Selene replied quietly, taking a sip of her tea. "I mean his real father. The mysterious Mr. Y of New York, also once the Vicomtesse's lover, before she married my uncle."

Several gasps reached her ears, followed by nervous twittering. Anne's eyes widened and her teacup rattled just a bit.

"My goodness gracious, Selene!" She said with a delicate laugh. "I had no idea you kept that sort of company!"

"Oh, he's a good enough fellow, Mr. Y. His real name is Erik Younger," she added confidentially. "He's quite interesting once you get past his prickly exterior."

"Indeed," Madame Bennett said demurely. "Where is the boy now?"

"He's somewhere around, exploring as boys do," she said, waving her hand towards the remainder of the house. "Such an obedient, good child. His father is very fortunate to have a well-mannered young man. Such a shame about the Vicomtesse."

"Yes, what did happen?" Mademoiselle Tulle asked timidly. She was the youngest of their group, only eighteen, but of a withdrawn nature that she did not receive very many invitations. Selene quite liked her. She was well spoken and educated, but her shyness turned many people off. Seeing her now, Selene did not think she would make a good match for Erik Younger at all. He would crush her spirit with one glance, even if he did not mean to. She might make a good mother for Gustave, but she would not be very adept at disciplining him when needed.

"I don't know all of what happened," Selene began cautiously. "After the fire at the Populaire, Monsieur Younger went to America and made his name there, and almost two years ago he invited Christine to sing at some spectacle show. Some madwoman murdered her, but she confessed the boy's parentage just before she died. Monsieur Younger brought Gustave back to France, hoping to let his spirit heal, but the boy misses his mother so terribly much. And now..." She broke off, and the tears that pricked her eyes and the emotion choking her words were real. "And now Monsieur Younger's doctor has discovered something...terminal."

"Terminal?" Three of them echoed.

She nodded hesitantly. "He only has a few months. Gustave will be orphaned," she whispered. "He doesn't know about his father's illness yet."

Murmurs of sympathy abounded, and Selene plucked a bit of fuzz from her jacket. Now came the tough part.

"It wasn't all true, you know," she lied. "The version that the papers told. That my uncle told. He's prone to fanciful thoughts, and he's battled mightily with his drinking for a number of years. Monsieur Younger has been very kind to me since I met him a few weeks ago. His greatest flaw was that he loved Christine Daae with too much passion. He still loves her, even after all of these years. It's heartbreaking, really, and so romantic."

"All great opera stories are," Anne replied wryly.

"Is he truly searching for a wife?" Mademoiselle Tulle asked.

"He wants a mother for Gustave," Selene replied. "He explained to me that he wishes for a union in name only, but that his requirement is to find someone who truly loves Gustave."

"Why don't you marry him then!" Madame Bennett burst out. "You make him sound like a Saint, for heaven's sake!"

Selene smiled, picturing the look on Erik's face if he could hear her. "Oh, no, Madame, not a saint," she replied, her mouth twitching. "But certainly not as ferocious as everyone believes."

She tugged the bell pull, her signal for Esmeé to usher Gustave in from the kitchen, where he had been eating cookies for the better part of an hour.

"Here he comes now," she said, listening to his voice as he chatted away with Esmeé, who he had made friends with for not telling on him about his nighttime accident. "Please, say nothing of his father or his mother. He's very sensitive."

The ladies nodded, their necks craning towards the open doorway as Gustave entered the sitting room. He looked bashful at first, and as predicted, Anne Prideaux gushed over him immediately. He wore a starched white shirt and dark breeches, his hair, which was a little long, had begun to curl like his mother's. He looked like a green eyed miniature version of Christine, but she could see Erik's features in his face at times. Certainly in that stubborn angle of his jaw, and that saturnine smile.

"Oh, Selene! I see what you mean!" Anne whispered. "He looks like a little angel."

Gustave walked over to Selene's chair, his face flushed with color as she introduced him to everyone. He seemed quite taken with Mademoiselle Tulles, Selene noted immediately, though it was not hard to see why. Of all of the women here, she was the least threatening. Selene whispered something in his ear, and at first he frowned, but she whispered something more and he nodded at once. At Erik's suggestion, she had requested a specific piece.

"Gustave has agreed to play something for us on the piano. Isn't that wonderful?"

"I shall play the second movement from M. Beethoven's Piano Sonata #8 for you," he boasted, and for the first time she noted an eagerness in his expression. He seemed more at home around women than men, and no wonder about it. There had been virtually no man in his life until Erik.

Selene had not truly expected Gustave to agree, or at least not so easily, but he settled down at the piano and began to play without preamble. The ladies listened without speaking, and she saw Anne's mouth part in surprise at the sounds coming from a child so young. She looked at Selene in open astonishment, but she said nothing.

Gustave moved to another piece upon finishing the first one, and she glanced at the clock anxiously. Erik was to arrive at any moment to collect Gustave. She rose to stand near the window, presumably to stand at Gustave's shoulder, but she was really looking out the window for the car. A breath of relief was expelled when it finally arrived, and a nervous flutter began inside of her. How strange, that it was not the first time this nervousness possessed her when he was around. Erik constantly flustered her, and it could not all be attributed to his interesting past.

The car sat at the curb for a very long time before Mr. Squelch got out to open his door. Selene watched, without his knowing as he straightened his clothing, and ran his fingers through his hair. He spoke to Mr. Squelch for a moment, extending his hands as if to say, 'How do I look?', to which the other man nodded vigorously. It looked as if he sighed, staring at the pavement for a long time, and then he marched up the stairs with a determined look upon his face. Selene inched out into the hall and greeted him just as he came through the door. He looked beyond her, towards the parlor, and the sounds coming from within.

"He agreed to play for them?" he asked, his expression wistful.

"With some encouragement," Selene whispered. "Do try and smile, Monsieur Younger."

He stared at her blankly, and she lifted her fingers to her own cheeks, tracing the shape of a smile with her fingers.

"This is not a good idea, Madame," he said, his gaze shearing into hers with a hint of desperation. "I do not think that I can do this."

Speechless for a moment, she stepped up to him and brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders, feeling a queer pang when he flinched from her yet again. "Remember who this is for, and you will be just fine. Now smile as we enter the room, and laugh if you can manage it."

"I fear I will never smile again."

"My aunt had to shamelessly cheat at cards to beat Gustave last night," she told him, with a hint of forced merriment to her tone.

His lips quirked, and she took his arm, admonishing him when he stiffened up.

"Relax. I swear I've never met someone as prickly as you are." Selene used her shoulder to push him forward, and laughed softly as they entered the room. "Monsieur Younger, you are too kind. I do feel as if I am only twenty instead of thirty, but you should not tell such obvious lies. I certainly do not look twenty."

"You are enjoying this far too much," he muttered for her ears only.

Six pairs of eyes turned to look at them, and Gustave stopped playing the piano. His mouth tightened once he realized his father had heard him play, but he got up and went to Erik.

"Is it time to leave, Erik?"

Erik looked down at his son, his glacial features finally thawing. "Yes," he said gruffly. "The car is waiting outside. Do you have your things?"

Gustave nodded. "They are at the door."

"Say your goodbyes then," Erik instructed, his gaze finally lifting to meet the women in the room. "I apologize for the delay, Madame Joubert. Had I realized you were expecting company, I would have come earlier."

"Nonsense." Selene introduced the women quickly, saving Anne for last. She watched her friend's white face bloom with color as Erik held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Anne looked away first.

"Regrettably, I have business to attend," Erik said, turning back to Selene. "Thank you for keeping him, Madame. Please tell your father that I said hello when you see him next."

She chuckled at that last touch, and was surprised when he leaned in to place a customary kiss on each of her cheeks, though his lips never touched her face. Her skin tingled where his hand gripped her arm to keep her in place as he did so, as if he were afraid she might refuse the gesture. When he pulled away, she could see pure panic in his gaze. He stared at her blankly, and she squeezed his hand before turning away, wanting to reassure him.

Gustave embraced her, and gave a small bow to the ladies, before bolting off toward the door like a child loosed from a schoolroom. With a rueful smile, this time one that truly reached his eyes, Erik left them.

The silence following their departure was long and pronounced, and Selene was so truly exhausted after their leaving that she had not thought of what to say after her orchestrations were completed. The entire encounter had lasted less than five minutes, but the effect on the women was astounding. She felt a little guilty at her manipulations, but if she truly had felt that one of her friends would come to harm by marrying Erik, she would not have agreed to it.

"Well," Mademoiselle Tulles said. "He is certainly not a meek little man, is he?"

Selene laughed. "Oh, no. I find him vastly exciting though, don't you?"

"He is quite interesting looking," Madame Bennett added, clearly at a loss for words. "The boy, though..."

"I've never heard anything so beautiful," Anne whispered. "You know how I love music, Selene. You must convince Monsieur Younger to allow him to enter the young theater troupe at the Choregies d'Orange in two months time. Entries are open until next week."

"I'll certainly give him the information."

"How is his search for a wife coming?" Mademoiselle Tulles asked suddenly.

Selene smiled. The afternoon had gone much better than she could have hoped.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Why didn't she call? Erik wondered, pacing in his bedroom. It had been hours since he left the Joubert residence, and he had spent much of the time in agony, and the rest of it pretending indifference even as it gnawed at his mind.

Had they liked Gustave? Or had he and his mask sent them screaming from the residence once they left? Gustave had been unusually talkative the rest of the afternoon, and was now upstairs in the music room where he usually spent three hours or more before his bedtime, composing only he knew what. Gustave had been quite charmed by Mademoiselle Tulles, who was pretty and had told his son that he was handsome. Madame Bennett had seemed a touch nosy, and Madame Prideaux was everything that Selene said she would be. Elegantly beautiful, and she had met his eyes and held them in a way that most would not. He had seen curiosity there, and the ever-present fear, but with her it was more like trepidation that outright horror.

The fact that Selene had brought her father into this had been weighing on his mind ever since he heard her grand scheme. Never one to trust or tempt fate, he had given Mr. Squelch an address to a flat on the Rue de Rivoli, where he would find the daroga to give him a letter with instructions to research her father, the Prevote. Surely there would be something in the man's past Erik could use to ensure his freedom. If there was, the daroga would find it for him, and with considerable less notice than Squelch.

Finding that he could wait no longer, Erik strode downstairs to the only telephone in the home, and dialed the operator, barking out Selene's call number.

"Why, hello," an elderly woman, whom he assumed to be her aunt answered. "This is the Joubert residence. Can I help you?"

"Madame, this is Gustave's father. I wondered if-"

"Oh, how delightful! How is Master Gustave? I have not seen him in ages, Raoul, you must bring him by soon."

Baffled, as his son had spent the night playing cards with her, Erik could only agree. He bit back a retort that he was not Raoul de Chagny. "Yes, Madame, I certainly will. Is Selene-"

"Ah, Selene is sleeping. Is this important? Shall I wake her?"

"With haste, Madame."

The receiver on the other end was clunked down, and for two or three minutes Erik held the line, wondering if she would forget her mission before she woke Selene. He was nearly ready to hang up when he heard two females chattering as they neared the telephone, and then Selene wished her aunt a goodnight.

"Uncle Raoul?" she asked, her voice cautious.

"Not quite," Erik said dryly.

Selene sighed, sounding very tired. "Monsieur Younger, it is ten o'clock. I meant to call but my guests stayed late, and I had a million things to do afterwards. Can't we talk about this in the morning?"

"No, we will talk about this now," he snapped. "Tell me."

"I can't make any promises," she said hesitantly, "but I believe Madame Prideaux is quite taken with Gustave. Mademoiselle Tulles is quite taken with you."

"Me?" Erik snorted. "Tell no lies, Madame."

"I am not," Selene protested. "She asked me about your marriage prospects, and was-"

"She is hardly more than a child," he interrupted. "And what of the other lady? The one with the preening expression on her face?"

"I do not think you need to worry about Madame Bennett. She is staunchly against the institution of marriage. I only invited her because she is a gossip-monger, and will spin her own story of the opera ghost. If word of this reaches Paris, no one will know what to believe. Madame Prideaux wishes for Gustave to enter the youth troupe at the Choregies d'Orange. She is a patroness of several theaters. Would you like her number?"

Erik sat down heavily, feeling momentarily out of sorts. It was going to work, he thought weakly. And then he would have just what he wanted.

"What is this youth troupe?"

"It is a group of France's youngest and finest musical and theater talents. They are holding auditions in two months, but you must enter by next week. I have seen them perform. They are really quite splendid. The contract is for one year."

"I know nothing of this program," he said skeptically.

"Christine was a patroness as well, until my uncle spent their patronage funds. She intended for Gustave to join...not permanently, mind you, but as a learning experience for him. The fee is quite high, and she was not able to meet the deadline. If I had known about it, I would have gladly paid it for her, but she was too proud to ask me for money."

"I will see if Gustave wants to do it," Erik replied neutrally. "Is that all, Madame?"

"If he agrees, why don't you ask Madame Prideaux to accompany you and Gustave to the theater in Orange?" Selene suggested. "It will give you an opportunity to get to know her."

His gut tightened. "We shall see, Madame."

"Goodnight, Monsieur Younger. I am going back to bed. Please do not call me again in the middle of the night unless there is an emergency."

She hung up on him then.

He stared at the telephone receiver in disbelief, and then laughed at her impertinence.

# # #

* * *

><p>Selene was surprised when Esmeé admitted Madame Prideaux the next morning. Anne joined her in her own private sitting room upstairs, looking nervous as she sat down. They spoke idly about the weather, and some gossip she had read in the morning paper, and then about the stock market. Anne's teacup rattled as she set it down on the serving tray.<p>

"Anne?"

Her friend looked at her, noticing a change in her tone. "Yes, Selene?"

"Is there a special reason to your visit?" she asked quietly.

Anne nodded. "I...I saw Madame Robey at the theater last night. We had a very interesting conversation about your guest yesterday."

Ah. Selene lowered her gaze.

"Did you call us over for tea for just that purpose of meeting him?" Anne asked softly.

"I offered to introduce him to a few eligible ladies. I am sorry for tricking you, Anne. Was it really so terrible, what I did?"

"No. But perhaps next time..."

"I tried with Lydia. She refused to even consider it."

"And she deserved the right of refusal," Anne said archly, then clasped her hands together. "However, I am not particularly angry."

Selene raised her head, studying her expression for a moment. "He does not possess many social graces, but I believe him to be a gentleman. Would you consider such an arrangement?"

Her friend shook her head slightly, then stopped. "I feel as if you did not tell us everything yesterday, and yet, I could see that joining our company discomposed Monsieur Younger tremendously. He seemed to be daring us to eject him from the room. Rather predatory, those eyes of his. I don't quite believe I could tolerate a marriage to such a man."

"Then why are you here?" Selene asked simply.

Anne flushed. "I wish to entice him into allowing young Gustave to join the troupe. I am willing to personally sponsor him. It would be quite a boon for me, you know."

"Monsieur Younger has not spoken to his son about the troupe. Perhaps you should call on him."

"You would have me go alone?" Anne swallowed dramatically. "I fear I do not have quite the courage that you do, my dear Selene."

She hesitated but a moment. "He has pressing concerns right now, Anne. Finding Gustave a mother is his priority. Gustave is going through a terrible time. When his father dies, I fear he may not recover from it."

"He did not look sick to me."

Selene thought of the day he had assisted her home, with shadows beneath his eyes, and skin so pale it was nearly white as his mask.

"I have seen him unwell. He is hiding it from Gustave. Monsieur Younger believes he will be dead by summer's end."

Anne's eyes widened, and she looked away for several moments.

"I never intended to marry," she said softly. "I was jilted at seventeen, you know. I was young, and foolishly in love with a man who did not truly love me. The Marquess de Rigy, if you can believe it. I made a life for myself, and I have been happy as a single woman."

"But?" Selene prompted.

Anne looked at her guiltily. "I would be lying if I said the thought did not cross my mind. I always wanted children. You know that I cannot legally adopt my ward unless I marry. Here, the opportunity to have a child without the agony of a true marriage. I could even have two, if the courts would at last permit me to take Celestine as my own since I would be a widow. I could not say if they would see his eccentricity as a bonus, but perhaps after his death I could adopt her. If it is as you say, and Monsieur Younger wants an arrangement for the sake of the child..."

"I believe he does. He was very specific on that point," Selene replied, feeling foolishly close to tears. "He is still in love with Gustave's mother."

"It seems selfish of me if I accept. Cruel if I reject. Foolish to consider either…"

"It must be a decision of your heart, Anne."

Anne smiled sadly. "I am here, aren't I?"

"Do not make this decision lightly, Anne. He does not have much time. If you are interested in doing this, you must commit with your entire heart to Gustave."

"I'll make my decision when I make it," Anne replied briskly. "Will he call on me?"

Selene glanced away. "Monsieur Younger is a very...reserved man. You will have to be direct with him. And firm. He's awfully bossy."

"He looks like a tyrant. And a madman."

Selene said nothing in reply, knowing that Erik was probably a little of both. Anne changed the subject after that, but before she left invited Selene to attend a showing of The Scarlet Pimpernel at the Choregies d'Orange in two days time. Anne also extended the invitation to Monsieur Younger and Gustave after some initial hesitation, and then she was gone.

* * *

><p>"Then you kick your legs, just so," Selene said from the water. "It is very easy, Gustave. Come, the water is wonderful!"<p>

He put a toe in and grimaced. "Wonderfully cold."

He was not lying there. It was mid May, for heaven's sake, but this was something she had been wanting to do for some time. He needed to learn to swim, and the only available private place to do so was on Monsieur Younger's property. Had they been in Paris, she might have been able to talk her father into letting her use their cement pool, but since no one in her family cared much for swimming, it was mostly kept dry because of the pains it took to keep it clean. The small lake on Erik's property was perfect, though the mud squished queasily between her toes, and it was not at all as warm as she had hoped. Monsieur Younger, present during her initial foray into the pool, had smothered laughter when she gasped at the temperature.

"Please?" she wheedled. "Your father laughs at me still, and I've a mind to do something especially sneaky to him if he does not stop. Perhaps splash him with water. That should cease his humor."

"Try it, Madame," came Erik's cool response. "I assure you, I am a proficient swimmer, and I could easily catch you."

"I assure you, I am a loud shrieker, and I will do just that if you try."

"Ah, but there is no one to hear you, Madame."

His eyes on her were quite unnerving. He lounged on his side against the bank beneath the shade of a willow tree, a blanket spread across the damp earth. He had laughed at her, yes, but she did not think he had taken his eyes off of her since she entered the water. She returned her attention to Gustave, who had backed away from the water and was moving toward his shoes.

"Gustave!"

"I do not want to go," he stated vehemently. "I have other things to do."

"But..."

"Let him be, Madame," Erik said quietly. He watched his son throw his shoes on and race away, his face full of brooding anger.

"I should like to get out now then."

"No one is stopping you."

His gaze left hers, wandering across the meadow as she came out of the water and hurried towards her own blanket. She wrapped herself up tightly and sat down several feet from him.

"You won't tell me what happened? Why he is afraid of water?" she asked softly. "I cannot help him if..."

"She was going to drown him," Erik replied flatly. "Meg Giry. She led him away from the theater, took him out to the pier on the island, and was prepared to throw him in. I believe she was going to go with him, bearing him down into the water. Silent. Cold. Until death. The sea there is very bitter. We might have never found them."

His stark words, and the expression on his face as he said them tore at her heart. He blamed himself, that much was certain. The rest she could surmise. He had tried to stop Meg, and in doing so, Christine had been lost.

"I wish that I could take away his horror. That I could change my decisions. If I had known what was to come, I never would have brought them to America. I had no right in any case, but I knew how he treated them. I knew that they were on the brink of poverty. I could not stand the thought of her beautiful voice being wasted on such stupidity. In truth, Madame, I did not think much of Gustave's needs. I was only concerned with my own, until I found out who had fathered him."

"You must have been very happy," she said, her throat tight.

"I've never known such pure joy. Not ever."

And she thought that right then, she saw what Christine had loved about him. He was so…human, just then, that it was not hard to see it at all. He spoke of these things with a naked sincerity, completely without a guard over his heart, as if he had known her forever instead of only a few weeks. He had more than loved Christine Daae. He had worshiped her with passion and intensity. Poor Christine must not have known what to do with so much emotion. Even after having Gustave and being exposed to her husband and his family for too many years, she still retained an innocence that nothing could destroy. And yet somehow she had brought this man - this fierce, violent man - to his knees.

"He does not deliberately exclude you," Selene said quietly.

Erik's gaze cut to hers, his expression like steel. "I beg your pardon?"

"Gustave was raised around women. He is simply more comfortable around them."

"Yes, I know."

"Yet, I don't think you do," she replied. "He does not know how to behave around you."

He turned to stare at the water. "He gets along perfectly well with Mr. Squelch."

"He gets along with anyone who does not make him feel unsafe."

By his expression, she knew she had not said the right thing.

"I did not mean physically…I…."

"I quite understand your meaning."

"No," she said, exasperated. "Would you listen for a moment? He is like his mother. Christine did not feel comfortable around people like you or my father. She liked to be in the presence of mild mannered, friendly, outgoing and good-natured persons. She felt diminished by boisterous, bossy, opinionated men. She was shy. That is why she chose my uncle."

He towed her towards him so quickly that she never saw him move. He gazed down at her, his face so contorted with fury that it sucked the breath right out of her. Her hands pushed at his chest – a solid chest that was completely immovable. His green eyes sparked with fire, narrowed to slits.

"Is it?" he snapped. "Because I believe that there was an entirely different reason she chose him."

"Let. Me. Loose," she said, enunciating each word slowly. Heat curled inside her bones, in her woman's places, at the intense rage in his eyes. What was wrong with her? He could very well _kill_ her, and she reacted as if he caressed her with his eyes, rather than stabbed her with them. The thought was as sobering as if she had jumped back into the icy lake. She raised her chin and narrowed her own eyes. "Let go of me, Erik."

As if he realized he held her sodden blanket clenched between two shaking hands, and beneath it she wore nothing except for a modern bathing suit, he blanched and set her away from himself.

Selene knew after a moment that he would not apologize. Rude, irritating man. Uncompromising brute. There was the side of him that frightened her, but she knew now better than to show him fear. It only angered him more when he realized someone was afraid of him, because the emotion that followed was shame, the most damning of them all. Instead she got to her feet, huffing loudly and deliberately as she did so.

"I suggest if you truly want a wife, you learn to control yourself. I only made an observation."

"An unnecessary one," he bit out.

"But not an unfair one. Christine was shy. My uncle was charming and generous of heart ten years ago, unlike you, who utterly lacks charm or wit of any sort that I can see. She loved you..."

"God knows why or how, or if it was even true!"

Selene felt her heart constrict. He seemed to think himself utterly unlovable. Did he secretly despair that his own son did not love him? For all of his complaints and brooding about finding a mother for Gustave, did he secretly wish for something else? Or was his love only reserved for her? A strange thought, considering he did not even realize that Christine had, in fact, returned that devotion. "Christine was very unhappy with Raoul. She once…she once spoke to me about love. How it touched her heart. She was not talking about him. She loved you, because you were the complete opposite of herself. There are many different personalities. And opposite attraction, as they say, is a magnetic force that defies any logical explanation."

He looked up at her after a moment, his expression perfectly blank. "And what personality is it that you are cursed with, Madame?"

She laughed derisively. "A very singular one. I am vengeful and unforgiving, self loathing and impure. Tomorrow I might be as sweet as a pastoral milk maid, but I would not tempt fate and expect the same of me twice in one week."

"Advice I will heed, to be sure." His gaze flickered over her once. "You're chilled. Allow me to take you back to the manse."

Feeling her face burn with embarrassment, for she knew exactly how he had judged her to be chilled, she fell into step beside him, and clenched the blanket tighter around her body. For a wild moment, she wondered what might have happened if she had spoken different words during his outburst. If she had pulled against him, instead of trying to push him away. It had been so long…a lifetime.

What a dangerous and tempting image it made, no matter how foolish.

* * *

><p>The evening of the play was warm and full of promise. Or at least, so it seemed. Erik dressed himself with care, and ensured that Gustave had done the same, before driving by Madame Joubert's residence to pick her up. Madame Prideaux would be meeting them there as she was a volunteer for the prided community theater that was quickly becoming the center of a yearly opera festival. Erik greeted Madame Joubert with little enthusiasm, his nerves strung high, and he knew that it would not take much to turn him into an irritable companion for the rest of the evening. He had insisted that Selene come, though it did not really seem as if he would be spending a great deal of time with Anne alone, in any case. She was wearing a dark blue silk dress which matched her eyes, and a jeweled silver mesh Juliet cap over her hair, which was swept up inside of it with one thick curl arranged about her neck.<p>

"I am sorry, I was not considering your hair when Gustave asked to have the top removed," he apologized.

"A convertible," she exclaimed, sliding in next to Gustave. She ruffled his hair a little, then smoothed it back. "How exciting! I should have worn a bonnet, instead of this."

She smiled as they set off, and the wind soon had made a mess of her hair indeed. She laughed, fighting for a moment to remove the mesh cap. She winced slightly, her arms raised over her head as she tried to gently disentangle it. The lift of her arms tightened her bodice, and pushed her breasts upwards. They shuddered violently with the sway of the car, and for several seconds Erik stared at her chest, looking away just before she caught him. He'd dreamed of those damned breasts every night since the lake. Wondered a great many things about them, and called himself every kind of idiot for doing so.

"Oh," she said, breathing a sigh of relief as she combed her fingers through her hair. "You may not want to be seen with me tonight after this. I fear I will look a fright."

Erik didn't look at her, or respond, but he didn't think she looked at all a fright. In fact, were they in America, she would be considered downright patriotic. Her white skin...the blue of her dress and velvety eyes, and the red of her lips. He felt a pang of regret that she was related to de Chagny and that things could not be simpler. She had been very generous to him. Friendly, even.

"I thought I might have to cancel," she continued, to no one in particular. "I spend Friday at the equestrian pavilion, not far from here, actually. One of the horses escaped this morning, and let all of his companions free in the process. I was quite frustrated, as we all were, and when we found the rascal he was cavorting with a donkey of all things!"

"What do you do at the pavilion?" Gustave asked her. "Can you take me riding someday?"

She glanced at Erik, waiting for his approval before she nodded. "Of course, these aren't your typical riding horses, Gustave. These are rescued animals."

"Rescued from what?"

"The glue factory. With all of these new automobiles, fabulous though they are, they've replaced the use of horses in cities everywhere. Most of the horses we take in were carriage horses, though we do receive the occasional animal that's been beaten one too many times, or some that people have not taken care of properly. But I have personally adopted three of them and had them trained to behave, so you may ride them when you come."

"I miss Belle," he said quietly. "She was a good horse."

"Belle?" Erik prompted, suddenly interested. "Did you have a horse, Gustave?"

He nodded, staring out at the countryside. "We had to sell her."

Erik glanced at Selene, then closed his eyes, his teeth clenched in anger. She looked from father to son. From son to father. However much he wished to deny her observations by the lake, she was right.

"She was half Arabian," Selene said quietly. "A blood bay. She'd been crippled in a hunting accident, and my father thought she'd make a good mount for Gustave. She couldn't run very much, and riding for longer than two hours made her limp, but she was just right for him."

"Yes, but Don Juan was more fun to ride."

Erik made a slight choking sound. Selene glanced at him. "Are you alright?"

"Don Juan?" he wheezed.

"Yes." She frowned. "That was Christine's horse."

If anything his coughing became more pronounced, then he started to laugh. Gustave exchanged glances with Selene.

"Erik?"

"Nothing. Nothing," he muttered, regaining his composure. He turned to stare out into the growing darkness, and Selene noticed the trace of a smile on his face.

It dawned on her then. Though she hadn't been at the opera that night, she knew at least the name of the opera in which Christine performed, and of this man taking the place of Monsieur Piangi, whom he had apparently killed. His role too had been Don Juan, a Lothario who seduced the young Aminta. She didn't find it funny. Not at all. For the first time she saw Erik Younger as her family, and the rest of Paris saw him. He was a murderer. He'd kidnapped Christine. Though Christine had forgiven him for his deceit, and loved him in spite of the things he'd done and his many flaws, she had known it too. How could she so foolishly forget those things that were in his past, if not still in his nature?

Selene turned her gaze onto the countryside. The rest of their trip was made in complete silence.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"I wanted you to meet someone," Anne said, greeting them at the entrance. She had her hands on the shoulders of a young girl, of perhaps eight years of age. "This is Celestine."

Erik bowed at the pale, slightly plump child, who stared up at him with large unblinking eyes. "How do you do?" he asked her with indifference.

The girl curtsied when prompted by Anne. "Very well."

"Celestine is going to be performing here next week. She was in the troupe last year, and was a smashing success," Anne told them with a delighted tone, sounding somewhat forced or nervous. "She has a very powerful voice."

"How charming," Erik murmured.

"What are you singing?" Gustave demanded, stepping forward with a frowning expression on his face.

"I can sing anything," the girl replied haughtily.

"I don't believe that," his son stated boldly.

The girl, clearly offended, narrowed her eyes. "You're very rude. I shall prove you wrong!"

Alarmed, Anne drew the girl back slightly, looking apologetically at Erik. He didn't seem to even notice the interaction between his son and the girl, his eyes were taking in the stage and the growing crowd of people. His face looked pale, and his hands trembled slightly. Selene noticed people stop to stare, then avert their faces quickly as they passed. She even recognized some of them, although they did not attempt to greet her.

"Where are our seats?" he asked, now realizing that the outdoor concert would mean that he would be sitting among many people who could see him. The first act had already begun, and thankfully the light of day had nearly faded.

"Come," Anne returned, leading the way.

They followed her at some distance, and Selene noticed Erik's reluctance to descend deeper into the bowels of the amphitheater. He did not take in the beautiful ancient ruins, which had been built in Roman times and withstood even the barbarian invasions. He only saw people. Many, many people. Not even on Coney had he gone into a crowd like this, unless he was disguised, the exception being the night of Christine's death.

"Courage," Anne said as they met her at an aisle right near the stage. Her guest had hesitated for the veriest of moments, but it was the expression of reluctance on his face that had persuaded her to provide him words of comfort.

"Pardon?" Erik replied coldly. "Is something amiss, Madame?"

Taken aback, she merely shook her head, and Selene gave her a sympathetic smile as they took their seats, Erik sitting between the two women with the children sitting as far apart as possible.

For most of the play, Selene felt him sitting stiffly beside her. She was sitting on the expressionless, or masked side of his face, yet she could see his jaw clenched and mouth tight and unwelcoming. He didn't appear even slightly interested in the production itself, and once she thought she heard him scoff quietly, but whether it was the actor's portrayal of Percy, or the story itself, she could not guess.

He excused himself from them both moments before the intermission, and just before the ending of the play, and both times they found him standing beside Mr. Squelch at the entrance with an infallibly polite expression on his face. Selene thought he was suffering in silence very well.

"Did you find the play interesting?" Anne asked him as they walked out of the theater together. She had taken his arm, which he had offered.

Selene fell back, feeling like an awkward and proverbial third wheel with the children following close behind her, bickering over who the greatest tenor in France was.

"Undoubtedly," Erik answered.

"I enjoy the works of the Baroness. Indeed, she is one of my favorites. What is your favorite, Monsieur Younger?"

"Book?"

"Yes."

"Without a doubt, it changes year by year. I am presently enjoying the works of Goethe."

"Oh, he is much too dreary for my tastes. And as much as I love Dumas, Balzac, and Zola, I truly adore reading the works of women. Do you have any authors of the fairer sex that you admire?"

"Like you, Madame, I find those works unendurably depressing."

Anne looked at him, astonished. "How do you mean?"

"The heroes of those novels are impossibly dashing, handsome, and like your Percy Blakeney, when faced with a true smidgen of danger, the final machinations to which the author puts them through are bland, to say the least."

"Oh. Then you did not enjoy the play?" Anne asked, clearly offended.

"On the contrary," he assured her, but without explanation.

Selene raised her eyes heavenward. "Lie to her, for God's sake," she whispered.

Her friend did not appear mollified in the slightest, and as they reached the car where Mr. Squelch was, Selene could not help but notice the expression of embarrassment on her face.

"I thank you for the invitation," Erik told her, stepping away from her. "Would you care to ride back to Paris with us, or do you have duties you must attend?"

"I am finished here. I only do preparatory work." Anne glanced at Celestine, and Selene knew she was weighing her options. She could follow through with getting to know Erik Younger, or she could risk losing Celestine to someone in a better position to raise her.

"Come, ride with us," Selene said invitingly. "Or rather, why don't I take the children, and Erik you may ride with Anne? Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Neither of the two seemed eager to agree with her, but the matter arranged itself quickly as the children scrambled into Erik's car and sat near one another, whispering and laughing. Friends for now, so it seemed.

"We will follow," Erik said without preamble. He turned, offering his arm to Anne once more, and led her to a car some distance away.

# # #

* * *

><p>He had assumed she was an empty headed, indulgent woman who dabbled in the arts merely for her own amusement and the social status that it raised her to. He thought she would not recognize his tone of distaste for the Baroness Orczy's play, and that he could get through this evening without offending her or making her think ill of him.<p>

Apparently he should have thought more about this evening before stepping off of his estate.

She was not empty headed. Perhaps she was indulgent, but she had a true passion for theater and in particular for the Choregies. Anne Prideaux was in all probability a great match for Gustave. She was the largest patroness of the youth theater, and one of those children, Celestine Danton, had been abandoned by her mother at an orphanage when the girl was just three years of age. A story that somewhat mirrored his own childhood, and touched on a particular nerve. She had been singing beautifully since the age of six, and Anne had been her personal sponsor and temporary guardian for the past two years. She feared that the girls parents would claim her, or the orphanage would find a married couple who would take the girl in. She confessed that a marriage to him would remedy the situation for both her and Celestine, but that she was not at this time ready to commit to such an endeavor.

"Time is limited, Madame, but I agree. We have only just met. Let me tell you about Gustave, and you may tell me about the child of your heart, since that is what would bring us together," Erik replied, thankful that it was dark and he did not have to bear her staring at his mask the entire way to Avignon.

"He is quite an accomplished pianist."

"Yes," he agreed readily. "He can play anything."

"Sing?"

"I've never heard him sing, much to my dismay. You will find that he is not especially fond of me. He will not play music in my vicinity."

"Truly?" She sounded sad, and sympathetic. "How odd. Perhaps he is shy."

"A sentiment shared by Madame Joubert, yet he played for yourself and the other ladies at her tea party with no reservation," Erik replied stiffly. "It is just this reason...this distance, that made me decide upon this endeavor, Madame. He is affectionate with his cousin, with almost anyone but me. He needs a mother, obviously."

"Some children do not open up as easily as others. He must still grieve for her terribly. You must give it some time."

"And once more, time is limited. Did Madame Joubert explain to you that I am ill?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Yes. I am sorry, Monsieur Younger, but you seem so perfectly healthy that I had forgotten."

"Today is the first week of April. I have perhaps four months now remaining."

She was quiet for several miles, then he heard her fidgeting nervously.

"Madame?"

"Is it...is it contagious, Monsieur?" she asked hesitantly.

"No. Merely an affliction of the organs, nothing more. My physician has assured me that I need take no precautions when I go out in public, which is exceedingly rare in any case. Do you have questions for me, Madame? I am sure that you must."

"Questions?"

"Certainly. My past, blighted as it is, or perhaps the reason that I appear to you in a mask?"

More fidgeting.

"It's alright, ma'am, I am prepared to answer anything you wish to ask me. Understand that I don't normally extend this courtesy. I won't make it a point to converse on this subject with you on a regular basis. But I fear that if I don't broach this subject now, you may leave my company tonight with a negative impression of me. For my son's sake, I do not wish it."

When she still did not ask him anything, Erik sighed.

"Then if you will not ask, I will tell you, Madame. Yes, I have been a criminal for most of my life. Like your Celestine, I was abandoned, yet I was but an infant when my parents discarded me. I say this not to inspire pity, but so that you may understand that I had no other hopes but to do as others commanded of me. Yes – commanded. I was taken in by Gypsies, and not the mysterious, noble sort that you read about in romance novels, but the sort that rob and steal and do other misdeeds that would make you shudder in your dreams. I stayed with them until I was a little younger than Gustave is now, and spent a few years wandering around Eastern Europe before I disappeared into the sands of Persia. We won't talk about that place; it would only frighten you. After leaving there, I lived a solitary, quite harmless existence in the cold but majestic cellars beneath the Paris Opera, until I had the misfortune of falling in love. I know you must think that I lived poorly, but I truly did not. It was a sepulcher, and yet I always thought of it as my own personal palace. Would you like me to go on, Madame Prideaux?"

"Yes," she whispered helplessly.

"Would I have your assurance that, with my being honest, you refrain from repeating this story, however summarized it may be?"

"Of course."

"I am sure you are aware of the events according to the papers, the gossips, and anything related by Madame Joubert – who, by the way, may or may not know the truth of the unfortunate situation I found myself in. I fell in love with Christine, and then she fell in love with the Vicomte, and so the triangle of despair accelerated to such a point, that I committed desperate acts to keep her at my side. I was lonely. She showed me kindness. Compassion. I showed her no mercy, not until that fatal night. I was blinded you see, by rage. By despair. I was a madman, by all accounts. I intended that all three of us should die beneath the Opera. Myself, Christine, and her precious Vicomte. Him first, naturally."

"Sir!"

"I've shocked you, Madame?"

"I should say that you have," Anne said fearfully. "What happened?"

Erik chuckled softly. "She granted me a kiss, Madame. A kiss, and nothing more. It was my first. I was thirty five and I had never been kissed. I was so distraught...so broken at that moment, that I let them go."

"But she must have returned to you? Otherwise you would not be Gustave's father."

"Yes. She came back. Regrettably, I could not remain at her side. I was...still am considered a criminal. She deserved a better life, and I thought that I was giving one to her. The Vicomte, however, changed, and I too changed, Madame, after I left France. Fear not, I am no longer a criminal. Perhaps I was once an unscrupulous, even ruthless businessman, but I have not broken many laws since that night. None that would offend even God. I loved her. I still love her terribly. And I am at peace with myself. That is why I can tell you all of these things, because I look forward to seeing her again soon, but I can only do so once Gustave's future is settled. He is nothing like his poor father, Madame. He is obedient but he is grieving, perhaps as much as I, yet he will not show his grief to anyone. Except, perhaps, Madame Joubert."

"And why do you not marry her?"

"If she were not related by blood to the Vicomte, I would consider it. Alas, one cannot choose who we are related to."

"You hate him that much then?"

Erik frowned. "Hate him? No. How can I hate someone who is obviously more miserable than I? But I do not desire Gustave to be raised in that family of vipers."

"You must refer to Solange?"

"Madame Joubert's sister? I have not had the pleasure of meeting her."

Anne shuddered. "Be thankful for it, Monsieur."

"A worthy opponent then?" he questioned.

"She's a faithless, heartless woman. My apologies, I do not normally speak ill of someone not present, but that woman is irrefutably corrupt."

Erik remembered suddenly that Selene would have to make up with this woman, her sister, in the agreement she had made with her father. He did not know the reason for the estrangement, only that it was there, and that it was very bitter.

"Tell me about your Celestine," Erik finally said, changing the topic to one that was happier, and to which Anne Prideaux seized upon with all the eagerness and pride of a mother.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The lights of her house were on as the two cars pulled up to the curb. Selene noticed the car that her father normally drove was parked across the street, and she saw a curtain on a first floor window move aside as she got out of the car. Behind her, Erik and Anne likewise got out of their car and Selene was relieved to see that the trip had been made without any obvious discord. After lifting the sleeping little Celestine out of his own car and placing her into Anne's, Erik bid his companion goodnight and stood with Selene on the curb as they watched her driver pull away.

"Success?" Selene asked quietly.

"Perhaps. Thank you, Madame. You chose well for Gustave, if this indeed plays out as I hope it does."

"Next time a woman asks if you enjoyed something, when it was obvious that she did, agree that it was superb."

"You wish me to lie to your friend?"

"As this entire charade is a lie, I do not see what one more hurts," she said. "And you, Monsieur Younger? Was it as terrible as you thought it would be, sitting in such a crowded theater?"

He glanced at her. "I have been to many picture shows. I take Gustave whenever he asks me. It was somehow worse being out in the open. You are very direct, do you know that, Madame Joubert? You should not ask me such personal questions. I do not care to answer them."

The door to the townhouse opened suddenly, and she saw her father descending the steps with a look of ill-ease on his face.

"Selene? Where have you been?"

"At the theater with Madame Prideaux, and Monsieur Younger," she replied. "I believe you have met him, Father?"

"Go inside, Selene," her father ordered her.

She glanced at Erik, startled. "I beg your pardon?"

"I am your father and you will do as I say. Go inside."

"Gustave is here, and he is sleeping. Keep your voice down."

Her father glanced down into the car, surprised to see the boy curled up on the seat. He then looked at Erik with an expression of contempt.

"You have some nerve, sending that little Persian man asking questions about me," Alfred Joubert said softly.

"The daroga? He's harmless," Erik said indifferently. "He does as he pleases."

"I warned you, did I not, to stay clear of my daughter?"

"She is related to de Chagny; her blood is tainted to me. You need not concern yourself with such thoughts. Your daughter has been...tolerant of me. I know it is only so that she may continue to see my son, but nevertheless, she has only wronged me once."

"I have wronged you?" Selene cried. "I?"

"Did I not tell you a secret, that you gave your word to keep? Ah, I see you have now remembered. Fear not, Madame Joubert, I will not keep my idle threat, since taking you away from Gustave would be like ripping out what's left of his heart. Monsieur Joubert, I sent the Persian to you as insurance. I'm sure he has found something, otherwise you would not be here and you would not be so irate. Shall I make you a deal?"

"I do not deal with criminals!"

"Listen, Monsieur, for I will only tell you this once. The Persian does as he pleases. He will have found out some evidence that could be used against you, and which you wish to conceal. I needed insurance, since I only recently discovered that you are a government official, a high ranking one at that. I will not ask him what he has discovered, so long as you continue to ignore me and my past. He may not tell me in any case, because he is of a higher moral character than either of us could hope to be. Still, he has always been faithful to me. I have saved his life twice. He has only saved mine once, so he owes me a debt. If I am arrested, then he will arrange that your truth be told. Do not ask me how he does these things. The daroga has his ways, and I have mine." Erik bowed to Selene. "Adieu, Madame. I am sorry that our acquaintance has ended this way. Once more, I thank you for the introduction to Madame Prideaux. It is most promising. I will require your assistance no longer."

Selene felt pain pierce her to the very heart as she watched him leave. She swallowed past the blockage in her throat and preceded her father into the house. He stood at the foot of the stairs, his expression uncertain.

"I am sorry, Selene. It has to be this way."

"You did not have to be cruel to him."

"Ah, but was he not more cruel to you, daughter?"

"I am used to his barbs, and I have always known he would never consider me as a mother to Gustave. Papa, I could never replace her. No one could….but I wish….I wish that it were me. I am sorry if that disappoints you. I do not fear Monsieur Younger. He has been harsh with me at times, but his past has made him that way. Despite the discord between him and Uncle Raoul, he has not held that against me. He does not have very long to live, so I do not see what it would matter…"

Her father seemed speculative for a moment, then he sighed. "I have questioned his motives from the first moment I knew he was moving to Avignon, Selene. When I knew he would be near you. When I understood that you would seek Gustave's company. I look at him not only as your father, but as the Prevote. And now, he has insulted me by sending a little Persian officer to follow me and question my friends. Are you curious, Selene, if the Persian found anything that might embarrass or incriminate me?"

"No," she said softly. "There is nothing that could tear you down in my eyes. But pray, please do not interfere with Gustave's happiness. I am doing this for him, not for Erik Younger. He needs my help if he is to find a mother for his son. You've no idea how horribly inept he is at playing a suitor."

"Selene..."

"We had an agreement. I will make peace with Solange, and I will accompany Monsieur D'Aubigne to dinner. Monsieur Younger says that he will be dead by the end of August."

"I have done more digging into the past," her father said quietly.

"I do not want to hear it! I know what he must have done, but I do not wish to know it! Tell me when he is dead, if you must, but not now. Please, not now."

Selene escaped to her room, and was barely inside with the door secured before the first sob emitted past her lips. She then spent an endless night attending the funeral of a ghost in her dreams.

* * *

><p>The smell of tobacco smoke greeted Erik as he carried Gustave upstairs and tucked him into bed. It was the only time Gustave ever allowed him to touch him, and Erik cherished those quiet moments. He always felt Christine's presence more profoundly when he was holding Gustave, and felt the loss of her with greater poignancy. He was still sitting at his son's bedside when he heard movement behind him.<p>

"All is well, daroga," Erik said calmly. "What are you doing here?"

"You have been in France for months, and you have not come to see me."

"Should I find myself in Paris again, something will have gone horribly wrong in my life."

The daroga stepped forward, and gazed down at the sleeping child. "Your apartment is still there, should you ever need it. Per your request, it has not been touched since you left," he said quietly. "The boy looks like both his mother and his father."

"Not I," Erik said with a dry laugh, ignoring the invitation. "Come, let him sleep. He has been making friends tonight, and I fear it has exhausted him."

They walked together downstairs in silence, and Erik finally looked at his old friend. He had not aged much in ten years, with the exception of a few white hairs mixed in with the deepest black. He still wore the same style of tunic, but he had traded in his fez for a beret.

"Why, daroga, are you a member of the esteemed republic?" Erik asked.

"Do not mock me," the daroga said with a scowl. He strode into Erik's study and planted himself in front of the desk, ready to give his report like a disciplined general. "Why have I been following the Prevote of the National Police?"

"Because I asked it of you," Erik said carelessly as he took a seat, not at the desk, but on one of his couches.

"For what purpose?"

"I have become acquainted with his daughter. Sit down, daroga, you're making my neck ache by having to stare up at you so, and I already have a fearsome headache brought on by a horrendous play. It is not what you think. He is..."

"The brother in law to the Vicomte de Chagny?" the daroga demanded. "Yes, I know. I have been keeping my eye on him as well, Erik. Do you know what he has been doing in Paris, while you sit here in Avignon?"

"Undoubtedly drowning his sorrows in women and whiskey. God knows he cannot lose anymore at the tables. Pay no more mind to the Vicomte."

"Truly?" the daroga asked suspiciously.

"Truly, I am not concerned with him. I have everything I need to stifle any protests from the Vicomte. So, I doubt that you have had sufficient time to uncover any lingering, dreadful secrets that the Prevote may have committed in his capacity as senior officer of the police, but have you in fact discovered something?"

"Yes."

"And would this be sufficient blackmail to have him keep my secrets, daroga?"

The daroga hesitated a moment, but when he opened his mouth, Erik held up his hand.

"Just a simple yes or no will do, daroga. I do not need to know the man's secret, I just want the assurance that if I need it, it is there for my taking. I have given my word that I would not learn it unless the information was needed. You should watch yourself though, Hasim. You are the sole owner of the Prevote's secrets."

The Persian looked at Erik with surprise. "Yes, it would be sufficient."

Erik nodded, pleased with the news. "One more question, and then we may retire this subject. Were his actions criminal - or shameful?"

"Both."

"Ah."

"But there is something you must know. I did not exactly obtain my information through the usual methods," the daroga added. "Someone supplied it."

"And who would toss such a gift at my feet?" Erik asked softly. "You know I do not trust information that comes so easily."

"He did not give his name."

"Ah, yes. The anonymous source. You will have to do better than that, daroga."

His friend shrugged. "The information was good. I checked into it myself, very thoroughly. It was not easy to verify either, but I did it. The man spoke French, but it was a strange dialect I have never encountered before. We had quite a time understanding one another at first."

"What did he look like, Hasim?"

"Tall, very thin with dark hair and pale skin. He was perhaps in his sixties. Very expensively dressed, and he visited me with no less than three bodyguards."

"I don't like it. You had better tell me what information he gave you," Erik said.

Hasim shook his head. "No. You said you gave him your word. If you trust me, then believe that I may have obtained the information by accident, but that I took great pains to ensure that it was both accurate and enough for you to blackmail him."

"I do not like that word." Erik let out a deep breath. "Fine, but if I am arrested, it will be your fault."

The daroga finally took his seat, staring at Erik with his dark and probing eyes. "There is something not right about you, Erik."

"You only notice this now?" he replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"Your manner is indescribably different."

"Of course, daroga. I have finally answered the last secret of life that I wished to know. The love and touch of a woman. You last saw me at the Opera, but what you did not know, what you did not hear from me or any other, was the circumstances of my son's conception. She loved me, daroga," he whispered. "She loved me, and now she is gone."

And with those simple words, the Persian watched his old friend break into paroxysms of grief, mixed with anger. The daroga, once used to this manner of display from Erik, simply waited until it had passed before speaking again.

"So she is gone, and you are moving on to another?"

The look Erik gave him was full of malice. "Never."

"Then why are you marrying? For the boy?"

"Yes. Yes, daroga. I am marrying for Gustave to have a mother who can love him, instead of a father for whom he feels nothing but fear - and perhaps one day hatred. I am going to die, daroga."

Startled, the Persian sat up straighter, if it were possible. "Die?"

"Not by any natural cause, daroga. By my own hand. Once I find him a mother, I am going to die of love."

"My faith! You do not mean it!" the daroga uttered. "Erik, you have a son. You will disgrace him!"

"He will not know. No one will. Except for you, and Mr. Squelch, whom I trust as much as I do you. You will not tell him, daroga. I forbid you from doing so. Do you not think me capable of arranging a death to look perfectly natural?"

"I know you are very capable of doing it. I've seen you do it with my own eyes, Erik. But you are leaving your son with no living relatives. You are marrying the Prevote's daughter, I take it?"

Erik's laughter rang throughout the room. "God no. I am presently marrying no one, but I have recently acquainted myself with a young woman who, I believe, would not object to marriage because it would be to her benefit and to mine. A union in name only. I would ask that you meet her, so that if a time comes when my son is in any danger or is unhappy, you could step in and take him away. You will become his friend as you have been mine. You will execute my estate, daroga. It is my will. Please do not argue with me, for I can see that you are surmounting an excellent one."

"I certainly am! Have you forgotten your Christian teachings, Erik? Have you abandoned your faith?"

"What does it matter to you? I will not talk religion with you. I had no Christian teachings, aside from what I learned and read on my own. I have never attended church. I serve no God, neither yours, nor mine. I believe, and that is enough for me, but I make my own fate."

The Persian sighed dramatically. "I will change your mind. Somehow, I will change it, my friend."

"But you will not prevent me. You would not dare to try," Erik said resolutely. "Let us speak of other things. Did you receive my letters from America?"

"Yes. I cannot say that I was pleased with your sending that strange bulwark of a man to inquire after Raoul de Chagny."

"Would you have done those things for me?"

"Marriage is sacred. You should not have interfered in Christine's."

"Ah, daroga. I guessed correctly then." Erik rose and poured himself a drink. He did not offer any to the Persian, knowing he would decline. "If I had foresight, I would not have sent him. Have you heard from the Giry's?"

Erik turned to watch the expression of his friend, and was unsettled by what he found.

"They are in Paris. Miss Giry is not well. She has been institutionalized. She was a danger to others."

"She's gone completely mad?"

"I think so. Madame Giry has consented to her receiving some radical new treatments. Perhaps they will work."

"And perhaps they will kill her," Erik replied unemotionally, save the slight flicker of his eyes. "Does Madame still have the funds that I gave to her?"

"She is very frugal. She knows that you have returned to France."

"I will not approach her. I am very forgiving these days, don't you see? I am weary of hate. I cannot summon the strength for it anymore. Is there truly nothing that can be done for Miss Giry?"

"In time, perhaps she will be alright. I was told she had become unpardonably promiscuous after the murder."

"Murder, daroga? It was not murder, but an accident. I am the only one to blame for her death. Not Meg. Not de Chagny. There is only me."

The daroga withdrew another cigarette from his breast pocket, and proceeded to smoke it. Erik crossed the room and opened a window, but said nothing as the Persian was the only person who he would ever allow to smoke in his home.

"I want you to meet my son tomorrow. Will you stay for awhile, daroga?"

"Am I finished following the Prevote?"

"Yes."

"Then I would be happy to."

The shrill ringing of the telephone interrupted them. The daroga jumped visibly, grumbling as he was not used to the devices and had no desire to own one. Erik stopped it at the beginning of the second ring.

"Yes?"

"Monsieur Younger?" a female whispered. "It's Selene Joubert. I wanted to apologize to you."

"There is none necessary, Madame."

"I wronged you. That is what you said."

"Madame-"

"I lied to my father tonight. I said that I am only helping you for Gustave's sake, but that is no longer true."

His heart of stone thumped painfully and awkwardly in his breast. He glanced at the daroga, who was watching with interest.

"State your meaning, please."

"Christine was my friend. I feel that she would want me to help not only for Gustave's sake, but for yours as well. I wear my heart on my sleeve, monsieur. And it bleeds for you, and for your pain. I've come this far in bringing you and Anne together. I want to bring you and Gustave together as well. I see the distance. I know he loves you, and I know you feel the same, but it seems he's lost in knowing how to show that love."

"He has no trouble with you," Erik replied quietly.

"Because he knew me before her death. This dark and dreary world without her he does not know how to navigate. I would say that I could provide assistance to you and Anne as well, but it seems that you do not need my help in that regard."

Erik frowned so severely at the daroga that the man vacated his chair, then the room. "Madame Prideaux was agreeable enough, but I have hardly charmed her, as you seem to think."

"No doubt it was due to your glowing review of a play that was obviously very dear to her," Selene said dryly.

"Do not forget why I am marrying. Never for a moment forget it," he said impatiently. "She is not to be my companion. Not my wife. Not my lover. She will be none of those things to me. I will be civil to her, and gentlemanly as I can possibly be. I forgive your indiscretion, Madame. There is no need to do me any favors. You have no obligation to me, nor to Gustave. Just love him, and that will be enough. As regarding your offer to assist our relationship, I think it would be better if he did not lose the shields he has built around his heart, when my fate is inevitable. I do not need for him to love me as desperately as I love him. He does not need to feel more grief for me than absolutely necessary, if he will feel any at all."

Selene made a soft sound of resignation in the receiver. "Goodnight then, Monsieur. I am sorry to have disturbed your evening."

He felt a pang of regret at the hurt obvious in her voice. Heart on the sleeve indeed. She hung up the telephone without waiting for him to say farewell.

"Was that a woman, Erik?"

He turned and glared at the daroga as he set down the receiver. "What business is it of yours?"

His friend held his hands up defensively, but he started to smile.

"Do not say a word, daroga. She is the Vicomte's niece, and I am not interested in her in any way."

"She calls you this late in the evening?"

Erik frowned severely.

"Is this why I have been following her father around?"

"He knows about me, and he is a police officer. A high ranking one at that. Merely covering myself, daroga. Did you have a pleasant conversation with Monsieur Joubert?"

"Quite pleasant, once he overcame his initial irritation. I showed myself to him several times when I followed him about, as you directed. He approached me directly, and I told him as much about you as he would listen to. Your life before the Opera, of course."

"I don't suppose my employment as an assassin frightened him at all?"

"Not in the least."

"And did you tell him anything that I did not tell you to relay to him?"

"I received your request and I followed your instructions perfectly. Now, if I am to stay with you, would you show me to my quarters? I have had a long day, and I am old."

Erik inclined his head, and started to show the Persian upstairs, but he balked immediately.

"Servants quarters, please," he said, sounding horrified at the thought of sleeping in a luxurious guestroom.

"Humble as ever." Erik turned and led him down past the kitchens to a small set of apartments. Miss Fleck occupied one, Mr. Squelch the other, and there were three vacant. They had attempted, at first, to keep a live in cook but the woman he had hired would not stay with the three oddities living beneath the same roof. Her room was still furnished, and Erik parted with the daroga at the door.

Erik left the house from a door off of the kitchen, and walked out into the night, removing his mask. The breeze caressed his face, and he stopped beneath a linden tree, grateful for a moment alone at last.

* * *

><p>She woke early, intending to take Chaos for their morning walk, but Esmeé met her near the back gate where the dog pen was located, bearing a single deep pink rose and a note. Selene looked at her curiously, waiting for an explanation, but her maid just handed it to her and left without a word. She lifted the rose, smiling. It had been over a year since she had received flowers from a man, and she could not help but feel foolishly pleased. She had no idea who it was from until she opened the note.<p>

_My apologies for the discordant conversation the last time that we spoke. The truth is, I am in your debt Madame. I am utterly inept at social skills, and I pray you will forgive the lack of them. If you were sincere in your offer concerning my son, it would honor me and bring me peace to at least know that he does not see me as a fiend. I am not the same man that Christine Daae knew, and it is my deepest regret that she is not here to know that I have changed for the better. I would trade my life for hers if that opportunity presented itself, but since there is no hope in wishing for such foolish things, I look to my son and to his needs to the best that I can. I know that one day Gustave will learn the truth about me, and when he does, I would hope that whatever impression I have made on him in the short time that I had the pleasure of sharing his life endures more solidly than a past that I bitterly lament._

**_Yours, in friendship – Erik Younger_**

Her eyes were stinging as she folded the letter and placed it in the pocket of her dress. She was just putting the leash on Chaos when her father joined her, frowning as the dog strained towards him.

"Where are you going this early?" he asked, eyeing the flower in her hands with interest.

"I walk him every morning."

"In this fog? Alone?"

"Yes."

He scowled, and opened the gate, obviously intending to walk along with her. "You could at least wait until this afternoon, when there are more people around."

"Today is my free day. He gets restless."

"So you take him with you to the charity?" Alfred asked in surprise.

"And to the stables. He is a very vigilant protector," she assured him.

They made their way down the narrow street, her father complaining that what Haussmann had done for Paris, he should have done for Avignon, but she secretly reveled in this time alone with him. He came to visit her at least once a month, frequently leaving her mother behind since she did not care to travel by car, or by any other means that led her away from Paris. Her father had always been doting and generous with her, and she was more like him than any other in her family. Perhaps that was why he permitted, without too much grousing, that she live away from her sister who loved to do nothing more than torment her. His weakness was that he loved both of his daughters equally, and he could not bear to see them at one another as they had been for so long.

"You've spoken to Solange?" he asked as they entered the park.

"No," Selene replied slowly. "I feel it would be best to keep a little distance between us. We've been corresponding by mail."

"And has she apologized?"

"Numerous times. It is not her apology that I needed, Papa. She gives those all too frequently. She never means them."

"Selene, you've barely spoken to her since she announced her engagement to Jean, and less still since she married him."

A weight of grief pressed down upon her chest. She stared straight ahead, wishing she could hold onto the shields that had erected around her heart. She wished she could be as cold and unfeeling as Erik Younger, and acquire the indifferent stare that he practiced so well.

"I could forgive her if she had loved him. If he had loved her. I would have been hurt, perhaps more horribly than I was, but she did not care one ounce for his feelings, she only saw an opportunity to hurt me, and she took it. I will ignore it, Papa, if that is what you want me to do. I will ignore the fact that she seduced the man that I...that I cared for. I will pretend that I have forgotten, and I will reconcile with her to a certain extent. But that is just what it will be. Pretend. Unless she truly repents...this is the way it must be."

"You promised me that if I helped Monsieur Younger..."

"I cannot force my heart. Perhaps I will forgive her someday. But I will never forget what she did to Jean and me."

He sighed, putting his arm around her for a quick embrace. "I love you, Selene. I pray you will put an end to this grief. You are the only one who can. And remember, you are not the only one who was wronged."

Subdued by his pained tone, Selene felt guilty and angry all at once. Guilty, because she had always been the dutiful and obedient child, and angry that it was expected of her to be dutiful and forgive her sister. Angry, because he was right. She said nothing, because it was never fun to quarrel with her father.

"I trust Madame Prideaux is knowledgeable about Erik Younger's past?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Selene replied briefly.

"You heard me mention a Persian fellow last night, did you not?"

She glanced at him, nodding.

"Selene, you do not know the half of that miserable wretch's life. What he did in Paris was nothing compared to the horrors assigned to him while he was living in Persia. I pray for his soul, for I fear that it will not dwell in the same place as the one whom he loved so dearly."

Serious indeed, if her father was praying for his soul. Selene longed to ask, but her curiosity was hampered by the knowledge that if she knew, she might well not be able to respect him as she did now. Just the same as she did not wish to know what secret her father kept from her, she did not need to know the darkest regions of Erik's heart. It was for him alone to tell her, and she was certain that he never would.

"He is kind to you?" her father asked gravely.

"He tolerates me."

"How odd, for him to have said the same thing about you."

"Father, he is not remotely interested in any woman, least of all me."

"Not even Madame Prideaux?"

"He insulted her, on purpose, I think," Selene said softly. "I believe he intends to remain true at heart and flesh to Christine."

M. Joubert's expression was singular. He laughed slightly. "Poor devil."

She grasped his sleeve, stopping him suddenly. "Will you keep your promise to me? Will he be safe until he dies?"

"You know I always keep my promises, petite. But you must also keep yours. I love you dearly, but your judgment of men has been very far from the mark in the past."

"Please…"

"I am not interested in turning up the past. I am merely saying that I want you to be more careful than you have been."

Tears of gratitude burned her throat. She blinked them away, quite unable to explain them. They returned to the house just as the streets were beginning to fill with people, but her father remained oddly silent throughout breakfast, then left the house directly afterward. He had, he said, a small matter of business to discuss with Erik Younger, and at last expressed an interest in seeing Gustave.

"Now, about Sacha…"

"Father," Selene said in exasperation.

"You promised me, Selene. Monsieur D'Aubigne is a good man. He is honorable and I think that you will enjoy one another's company. I have been telling him about you for nearly a year now, and he is very eager to meet you at last."

She sighed. "I had honestly hoped you had forgotten. Of course, Father. The next time I am in Paris, I will meet with him. But do not expect miracles."

Alfred only smiled.

* * *

><p>Erik started as a knock sounded on the door to his workshop. He was once more arms deep in the orchestrion machine, and ink from the music rolls stained him up to the elbow. Gustave was next to him, watching each thing he did with great care and handing him the tools that he requested. Erik glanced at the daroga, who had just joined them after his mid morning prayers.<p>

"Shall I answer?"

"See who it is first," Erik answered brusquely. "Please."

When his guest returned moments later with Alfred Joubert trailing behind, looking like a wide eyed child, Erik speared him with a unhappy glance.

"Uncle Alfred," Gustave said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't visit?" Alfred replied, sounding wounded.

Gustave glanced uncertainly between the three men, then rose to shake his uncle's hand with a solemn expression on his face.

"Is...is the Vicomte here?" the boy asked nervously.

"No, no. I am here alone. What is this?" he asked, gesturing to the machine.

"It's an orchestrion. Or it will be, once Fa...Erik is done."

Erik felt a tinge of annoyance at Gustave's hesitation to pronounce him as such. He stood, wiping his hands on a towel, and leveled a look at Monsieur Joubert that was at once understood.

"I wondered if I might have a moment of your time, Monsieur Younger."

"Certainly. Daroga, would you be so kind as to take Gustave down to the cafe for luncheon?"

Erik felt a small tug at his hand, and glanced down to see his son clinging to it tightly. Fear was written in his eyes. He led Gustave out of the room towards the entrance, beseeching Hasim to give him a moment alone.

"What is it?"

Unable to speak, Gustave's eyes filled with tears. He shook his head slightly, and Erik stared at him, appalled. He never cried. Sinking down on one knee, Erik placed his hands on his shoulders.

"Gustave, are you afraid of Monsieur Joubert?" His son shook his head again, and Erik's heart sank heavily. "On my honor, I promise you that I won't hurt him. Why must you think the worst of me? Why?" he whispered.

The boy's eyes closed, and tears traced his cheeks. He made a sound of frustration and jerked away. "You don't understand."

"Then help me, Gustave." He reached for him again, but Gustave brushed his hands away, then wrapped his arms around his thin chest and began to tremble. The look on his face drove a dagger deep into Erik's heart. "You're killing me," he said beneath his breath. "I'd never hurt you. God, but I won't." He tried to tell him that he loved him, but those foreign words had never been easy to say, and they failed him now. It seemed as if his entire body shook with emotion, but his frozen tongue would not move.

He stood as the daroga entered the room, swallowing past the knot in his throat. He watched the Persian lead Gustave out the door, and fought the urge to slam his fist against something. Resolutely, he returned to the room where Monsieur Joubert waited with a serene expression.

"You must think that I am stupid," the man said quietly. "You have my daughter out until odd hours of the night, and then you send flowers the next day, expecting me to believe that your intentions towards her are pure."

"Every woman deserves flowers now and again, even your daughter," Erik returned innocuously.

"Indeed she does, but not from you."

Erik sighed. "You must think me stupid, to believe that I'd attempt something so clandestine, with a family member of my enemy. A woman whose father is the Prevote. Why are you here, Monsieur? Is this about the daroga?"

The man's eyes flickered.

"I have not asked him, nor am I interested in, what he discovered. I am only interested in protecting myself, and Gustave."

"You will not tell him about your past?"

It was Erik's turn to pause. He braced his hands on the orchestrion and looked down. "Yes. I intend to fully convey it to him, in writing. He is too young to understand right now."

Alfred studied him critically for a moment. "Pardon my asking, but what is your affliction?"

"I have a weak heart," Erik answered cryptically.

"I must say that I do not like the way you have manipulated my daughter into agreeing to help you. As a policeman, it is very irritating to have your affairs caught up in business such as this. I would dearly love to haul you in to Paris myself."

"That's very odd. I am a master manipulator, and yet even I cannot figure out how I've tricked Madame Joubert into helping me. It was she who showed up at my door, Monsieur."

"I think we both know how this will end, if I do not have some sort of insurance for myself."

"I am quite content with our situation."

"I am not," Alfred retorted.

Erik smiled slightly. "Then we are at an impasse."

The man fished something out of his coat, and laid it on the orchestrion. After a moment's hesitation, Erik picked it up, and found a sheet of paper bearing a letterhead of the Nationale Police, filled with a history of his crimes at the opera. Everything from theft to murder was listed. Alfred had been very thorough.

"Sign a full confession, and I will ensure that it is burned upon your death."

"You're delusional," Erik said with a laugh.

"Am I?" Albert smiled coldly. "I think not, Monsieur Phantom. You know, you were a personal thorn in my side for over three years. You've become one again. Though technically the Opera fell under the jurisdiction of the Gendarmes, because of my connections within the aristocracy, and subsequently through their patrons, I was besieged by requests to capture you. And then when my wife's brother was caught up in your games, yet again, I was asked why the police could not catch one man."

"That is easily answered. The police are inept."

"Not my department, I assure you. Either sign it, or you will be leaving France soon pursued by my men and I will give your son to Selene to raise. I promised my daughter that so long as you behaved I would not turn you in, but given the recent turn of events, I do feel that I need a little insurance. I'll keep my promise to my daughter and do my best to ensure you aren't arrested, but I guarantee that you'll never come back to France again."

"Do what you will, but I'm not signing a damn thing. Keep pushing, and it will be your secrets out there for the world to see. And who do you suppose I would tell first, hmmm?" Erik asked softly. "Do you think your daughters will forgive you? Your wife?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. It will not matter, because I would be dead before I ever make it into the custody of the government."

Erik studied him for a moment, considering Alfred carefully, as one might a vicious boar. He could not turn his back on this man. He could not ignore him, and unfortunately he could not kill him.

And the ax, which had been pressing so gently upon his neck for the past year, suddenly became a burden he no longer wanted. He was weaker now than he had been a year ago. After her death he had gone through several process of grief: denial, depression, anger, sadness, and ultimately resignation. Had he lost the will to live, only to find it again? His mind was still set upon death, and yet he could not bear the thought of never knowing Gustave as a young man, Gustave as an accomplished musician, and Gustave finally as a husband and father himself. He couldn't bring himself to think of his son forgetting him – a shadowy father that he knew briefly and decided was never worth his love, or a father who left one day and never returned, dying alone and miserable, as he deserved.

Would his son fall in love one day and plead with him to remain in the shadows so that his darkness did not taint the whole of his life? Would he become a burden to Gustave, and be abandoned yet again? The only reason Gustave could not leave him now, Erik reasoned, was that he was a child. He had often wondered if that time would come, and what purpose would there be to his life without Christine and without his son?

His heart heavy, Erik closed his eyes, and began to mentally compose a list of crimes, from the first, to the very last. As he did so, that burden and guilt became less and less intense. If he enlisted Alfred's help, he would seal his own fate, and perhaps that would be a blessing. At least then he could not delay what needed doing any longer than necessary. At least then he would have a purpose other than to die of love. Though a worthy cause, he had the underlying sense that anyone who knew of his sacrifice would think it overly dramatic and pointless. Perhaps as time went on, he was finding himself agreeing.

"It is a simple really, Alfred. I will be dead soon, so there is no need in trying to maneuver me into something I refuse to do. I wish to live in relative peace until my passing. I want to provide Gustave with a loving woman who will care for him as if he were her own, and perhaps he will mourn me a little if I am lucky. If it makes you feel better, you may put the bullet in my head when the time comes, instead of me taking a chance that I might quail at the last moment, or simply screw it up."

Alfred stared at him, stunned. "You mean..."

"Yes," Erik replied simply. "Yes, Alfred, that is what I mean."

* * *

><p>It was more than an hour later when the daroga returned with Gustave, and they found Erik bent over his desk reading. The daroga held Gustave's hand, holding the child back as he perused the look of wildness in Erik's eyes.<p>

"Erik?"

The man in question lifted his head, staring blankly at his two guests. "Ah, daroga. Just who I needed to see. Come, tell me what you think of this."

As the Persian read the contents of the testimony, Erik leaned back in his chair and studied Gustave's serious expression. He memorized the careless whorls of dark hair that was becoming too long, and the whiteness of his face, that was punctuated by two dark green eyes that very closely resembled his own.

His son, in turn, stared back with an always-present countenance of ill ease.

"Erik, what is this?"

He turned to look up at his friend. "A confession."

"Eh?"

"We'll discuss it later, daroga. Is it accurate?"

The man lifted a handkerchief to his face and dabbed his brow. He nodded his head, looking unhappy. "I'd forgotten one or two things. I'm amazed that you even..."

"I did not compose this, but pray, do not insult me," Erik replied icily. "My conscience is as good as yours, I just do not air it out for all to see."

"Or use it as frequently," the daroga muttered beneath his breath.

"I need to know in precise detail what you found for me. Was it for some minor indiscretion that would be forgotten over time?"

"No, no," he replied assuredly. "This will never be forgotten."

They both glanced at Gustave, who was listening with unabashed attention. Erik cleared his throat.

"We'll go over more of this, this evening. For now, put that in a safe place, daroga. I trust you, as ever."

The daroga handed him the document back with great care. "Do not be so cavalier. You should burn this immediately. Why are you keeping it? This is not something that you need to let out of your sight, my friend."

"You've had a hundred opportunities to kill me, and you never have. I trust you even more than I trust myself. You are my conscience, or at least when I allow you to be. But perhaps in this case, you are right. Your morals might get the best of you after I have refreshed your memory, and I could find myself at your mercy instead of the mercy of France. As for this, I think I needed a reminder of what my life once was. It will help…set the mood, when the time comes." Erik tucked the parchment into the breast pocket of his coat and slipped it on. "It's getting late. Let's be on our way."

* * *

><p>Erik finished reading the list of his crimes in his study, which read more like a mad chronology of sin rather than a true confession. He had even added to it, things the Prevote had not known. Things he had tried his best to forget. The daroga, much accustomed to late nights, sat with him in the study throughout the evening answering questions that Erik threw at him intermittently, and at the end of it they were both exhausted. Some time near midnight Erik laid his pen down, rubbing his eyes wearily.<p>

"Out with it then, I suppose," he said softly.

"The Prevote?"

"Yes, daroga. The Prevote."

His friend shifted himself on the sofa, his dark weathered expression lost in thought for a moment. "He is…how do you say…of a less than distinguished background than he would like everyone to believe."

"This is what you give me, daroga? The Prevote comes from poor relations?"

"Not quite. He is a Russian born spy. He was born under a different name in Russia, but his mother brought him to France when he was ten or so, which made him even more valuable to them because he knew the language and culture. His sister Marie is actually only a half sister. She never lived in Russia, from what I can tell, and does not know about her brother's loyalties. The rest of their family died during the Commune, from what I gather. He returned to Russia when he was fifteen or so, and enlisted in the army. During the Crimean War he served in battle for the Russians, but when his background was discovered he was sent to infiltrate the French government and relay messages back to his home country. He served them again in the Franco-Prussian war, and in fact, he continued to provide them with information when it was needed until a about a decade ago. He has been a spy for almost half a century. It was his sister who introduced him to Isabelle de Chagny at some point, and he married her almost immediately, despite not having approval from her family."

"And you learned this from a mysterious man with a strange French dialect accompanied by three bodyguards? Did he provide documents?"

The daroga removed a parchment from his jacket. "A birth certificate, showing his name was Aleksandr Pavlona, and an affidavit verifying the information, signed and sealed by the deceased Prince himself."

"Easily forged."

"Not when the Prince's former foreign minister, living in Brussels, verified the information for me and told me the story of Aleksandr's loyalty to his Prince. The seal on the document is authentic. No one can discredit it…even if they could, the public scandal alone would see his career ended, if not worse."

He resumed pacing, glancing at the daroga. "I need more information."

"Why do you not ask him?"

"No. I could never simply ask. I would not be sure of a truthful answer, and I do not trust him to give me one. He must be tricked into giving me the answer."

"Tricks?" the daroga sighed. "I've had quite enough of your tricks to last a lifetime."

"I've no wish to antagonize him."

"Then simply ask him."

"And what shall I say? 'How do you do, Monsieur Joubert. Does your wife and the rest of Paris know that you are an imposter?'"

The daroga shrugged. "I have never understood Europeans. In Persia we ask questions, and if we do not get the truth, we give you to the shah's mother. You beg for death once she is through with you."

Erik's eyes narrowed, but he had no wish to talk about the little sultana.

"There is, of course, another alternative," the daroga suggested quietly. "You can show him the respect and accord that a man of his position deserves, and offer him your word. Despite your many flaws, your word has always been very good, Erik."

"And it has meant nothing to men of even less standing," he muttered. "I will think on it, daroga. But do not expect miracles."


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

It would be another week before she would see either Gustave or his father. Her own father, obviously intent on staying in Avignon as long as he possibly could, was beginning to quietly wear on her nerves. He joined her for morning walks, sojourns to the theater, to the charity house – especially when he realized that it was directly across from Monsieur Younger's workshop. To her surprise he went to visit him once more before leaving the city, and as it was on a Friday, Selene breathed a sigh of relief once he was gone and prepared to go to the equestrian pavilion. She was dressed in her tailored riding habit, which consisted of a long charcoal skirt and a white fitted pinstriped blouse with long sleeves, completed with black gloves and black riding boots.

Deciding to leave Chaos at home, simply because she wanted a peaceful and quiet morning to herself with the horses, she stepped out her front door and stared with surprise at the ghostly figure standing across the street. She waved, startling him from his position near a plane tree. Obviously he had been waiting for her to appear, but he had lost track of time or forgotten his purpose. He strode towards her with a characteristic grimness about him that was becoming all too familiar, and yet as he approached something tightened within her that felt an awful lot like joy.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a smile she could not keep at bay. "Is Gustave with you?"

"I don't have much time left," he said abruptly. "You said you would help me."

"Oh." Selene concealed her emotions carefully, but in doing so she had to look away from him. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, reminding herself of her purpose. "I'm just on my way to exercise my horses. Would you like to come along?"

He hesitated, but she noticed a subtle expression of yearning in his eyes.

"There won't be anyone there but a few stable hands who feed the animals, and perhaps Monsieur Puche, but he is usually only there in the afternoon, if at all. I like Fridays best because everyone seems to have other things to do," she said, realizing she was babbling when his expression became increasingly annoyed.

"I will take my own car," he stated quietly. "I will follow you."

She beamed, and went around the house to the small garage and waited as the driver pulled the car out. As they pulled out on the street, Monsieur Younger's sleek black car kept up with them, and they left the city for the quiet countryside. Arriving at the pavilion which had once been a lavish riding school but was now a more modest version of its former self, Erik nosed his car in beside theirs and got out. He stepped out of the car and stood with the door open for a moment, as if debating whether he wanted to actually go through with it.

She approached him and took his arm, towing him towards the stables without giving him a chance to resist. She dared not peek at him, because she was certain she would find him glaring at her, but once they entered the barn he inhaled deeply and made some low murmur of appreciation that she recognized.

"It's always the same, isn't it?" she asked lightly, releasing him to go towards the three stalls where her own horses where kept. Several curious heads poked their heads out to greet her, and she stopped to acknowledge each one before moving on. Erik trailed behind her, doing the same. "Sometimes I sneak out here in the middle of the week and get away from the city for a few hours. It's very relaxing."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "It's been a long time since I have been around a horse."

She stopped as a tall chestnut gelding nickered at her, and took a halter and lead from the wall. "This is Hermes. The black mare at the end is Nyx, and the little pony is Pip."

He struggled not to smile. "You've a fondness for Greek mythology. I don't remember a Pip, however."

She laughed, and took Hermes out of his stall. "Here, you'd best take this one. I don't think Pip would appreciate it much if you rode him."

He stared at the pony, who pinned his ears back and tried to bite him.

"Well. I would ask if Gustave could ride this one, but I think not."

"He was a cart pony. He's really very lovable, but he's not fond of men, raised voices, loud noises, dogs, or anything else that gets in his way. Like his namesake, he was brought up 'by hand'. I'll release him in the paddock while we're gone. He's quite amusing to watch."

Erik groomed and saddled the horses happily as she did so, and found that he remembered quite well how to prepare a horse for riding. They mounted, and Selene led him away from the barns to a wide field with rolling hills that was dotted with trees. Despite being stabled, both of her horses were remarkably well mannered, though he sensed that if she wanted to release the mare, Nyx would be flying through the fields and her mistress would let her do so with abandon if she did not have company. They were silent for awhile, just enjoying the warm morning sun and the pleasure of being on horseback, but as the pavilion and barns disappeared behind them completely, Erik glanced at her.

"What can I do?" he asked quietly. "He is so easily affectionate with you. Even with my friend the daroga, who he just recently met. But with me..."

"Have you tried simply talking to him about this?"

He shook his head slightly. "I wouldn't know where to begin. I have tried to make it clear that I won't ever hurt him, but those declarations only seem to push him further away. I wouldn't…you know. I'd never hurt him."

"I believe you. Has it always been this way?" Selene pressed gently. "Since she died?"

Erik stared ahead for a long while, his expression closed. "When she died...the day...moment...I wasn't thinking clearly. He needed me then, and I had no idea that he did. I left him alone for weeks, and I regret it now, because I know how he must have felt. I tried to apologize for it. We eventually fell into this automated existence where we spend time together, but we don't talk. He doesn't play music for me. He's always writing these things down and won't let me see them. When your father came to visit the other day he was nearly in tears because he assumed that I was going to hurt him or kill him. I've never even lost my temper with him, and yet, he already knows my base nature. He has terrible nightmares still. My God, he watched his own mother die in my arms. I couldn't do a bloody thing to save her."

"I didn't know," she whispered. "I am so sorry, for both of you."

"He blames me. He must hate me."

She was thoughtful for a moment, remembering how Gustave had been when she first saw him at his father's house, and the second time at the Palais. She shook her head slightly.

"You are a blind man," she said softly. "He admires you. He loves you. All he ever talks about is your music, and how much he loves it, and how he wishes his mother were here so she could make you happy."

He stared at her in disbelief, and then in anger. "Do not lie to me," he warned, slowing his horse enough to meet the pace of hers.

"I asked him if I needed to take him away somewhere that you would never find him. I've asked him this twice now," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "And if I thought for a moment that you were cruel to him or that you were going to hurt him, I would do it. I am not lying to you, Monsieur Younger. Gustave earnestly told me that he wanted to stay with you. If he did not love you, he would have gone back to live with my uncle. Do you know how many birthdays he missed? How many times he was told to go play, or go to his room, simply because my uncle did not wish to be bothered with talking to him? His horse? The one who was crippled, and whom Gustave loved so very much, was sold to pay for a gambling debt. Only she wasn't sold to anyone interested in having a child's horse or a companion animal. She was sold as a bait horse. Do you know what that means?"

"She was killed for sport," Erik replied flatly.

"Three dogs tore her apart for the entertainment of a bunch of drunken fools. They bet on which dog would take the kill."

"Does Gustave know?"

"I don't know. I hope not, but I can't say for certain." She turned her face away, squeezing her eyes shut until foolish tears had vanished.

"What should I do, Madame?"

"What can you do, but love him, and show him you love him."

"I tell him-"

"_Show_ him."

He looked perplexed. "How?"

"Oh, for goodness sakes, hug him. Kiss his cheek. Pat his shoulder when he's done good, blister his arse when he's done wrong. Don't you remember being a child?"

"Ah," Erik replied with a laugh. "You are speaking to me as if I experienced all of these things first hand the way that other children did. I did not have the upbringing that you did. I was not privileged and protected as you were. I did not grow up in any one place. My first memories are with the Rom. I lived with them until I was twelve or so. I never attended school. One of the Rom taught me to read and write, and I learned to play an instrument at a young age. I did not live with them by choice, exactly. I knew nothing of life but with them. I did not know until I tried to leave that I was their prisoner. More like a slave, really." His voice was strangely calm, but his eyes were not. They expressed emotions that she had not known he possessed.

"You truly do not remember your family?"

"The Rom told me that they found me in an alley, somewhere in Paris. Whoever birthed me left me for dead. They told me that for weeks…months…they did not know if I would survive. I was sickly for most of my childhood. Or at least…sickly in appearance. Once I was old enough, I began performing for them under various names, all of which designed to make the public think that I was either an animated corpse or a child spawned from the loins of Mephistopheles. Someone told me about her once."

"Who?"

"My mother," he said, his voice very soft and distant, as if he forgot he was speaking. "The leader of the tribe brought me to his tent one evening when I was about eight, and there was a man waiting for me. He was dressed very expensively, and it was so dark I could hardly see his face. I was afraid at first, for there are all sorts of sick fancies that take place in those traveling tents, but he approached me and held a lamp up to my scars. He told me my name was Erik, and if I had been born beautiful my mother would have kept me and loved me. He said her name was Gisela."

"Was the man your father?"

"I don't know. He was very young. He handed me something. I can't remember what it was now."

She touched his arm lightly, shaking his memories away. "All the more reason for you to show him love and affection. Can you say for certain that he does not love you? Or can you perhaps believe that he is like you in his emotions? Reserved? Perhaps he doesn't entirely trust you, but that can change, and it's probably not even your fault. My uncle's parenting skills left much to be desired. It won't be easy. It won't happen instantly. It is far easier to make someone love you than to make them hate you."

"How so?"

"Hate takes energy. Is there anyone you have ever truly hated?"

"You would ask me such a question, Madame? I have hated countless people."

"And for all that time wasted on hating them, has it ever brought you happiness?" she demanded. "Do you still hate my uncle Raoul? Do you still want to kill him?"

He glanced away. "I cannot hate him anymore. I do not like him, especially now for what he's done to Gustave, but hate? It is too strong of a word for what I feel, and yet I can't describe what's left in its place."

"And who else is there? The woman who murdered Christine?"

"It was an accident," he returned sharply. "Miss Giry did not mean to fire the gun."

"So you do not hate her? Is there none worthy of your hatred anymore? Or of your love?"

He reined the horse to a stop, glaring at her. "You know that there is."

"Then you better prove it to him, Monsieur Younger, before its too late."

"And if it already is? There is probably not enough time in this universe, even if I lived to be a hundred years old, to make him look at me as he did Christine, or even as he looks at you."

His words stabbed at her heart. He looked so bereft that she started to reach for his hand, but before she'd moved a fraction of an inch he nudged his horse forward, never seeing her slight movement.

"I have a task for you then," she called out.

He turned his horse around so that he was facing her directly, the green of his eyes so startlingly clear as the sun shone directly into them, that for a moment she just stared at his beautiful form. He looked at ease astride Hermes, a figure of black and white, darkness and illumination, life and death. How could a mother abandon her child so callously? How could a boy become a man without ever knowing love of any kind? Would it lead him down the same path that Erik Younger had taken? Would it destroy all that is good and pure inside of his heart, or would he secret a part of it away and allow only a very few to see it?

"Tasks?" he repeated uncertainly.

"Several of them, actually," she continued. "Or they might better be called tests. _Every_ day...at least once, but however many times that you can, you have to tell him that you love him. You have to look him in the eyes, and he needs to know that you mean it."

"I already do that, Madame," Erik replied, sounding bored.

"Do you hug and kiss him?"

"He does not permit me to touch him. He pulls away from me."

"Then he must be at that age," she murmured to herself.

"Madame?"

"Never mind. Do not worry about that, some children are peculiar about affection once they reach a certain age. What about music? You say he will not play for you?"

He shook his head slightly.

"Do you play for him?"

"No," he said slowly. "I did not think he would listen."

She smiled. "Ah! But have you tried?"

"Not for some time. I don't enjoy playing as much as I used to. He never comes into the music room if I am there."

"Does music not float through walls and doors and window panes? Gustave has music in his soul. I promise that if you play, he will listen. If he begins pouring hot wax in his ears, then you have a real problem. I want you to play every day. Even if you don't feel like it, I want you to play for him. Even if he doesn't come into the room, play."

He leaned forward in the saddle, looking at her with his full attention. "Go on."

"When you're building the music box-"

"Orchestrion," he interrupted.

"Orchestrion," she corrected. "When you are working on it together, do you teach him how things work?"

"I'm in a bit of a hurry to finish it, Madame."

"Stop being in a hurry. Show him how the gadgets and things work on it. Teach him everything you can, so that when you are gone, he will remember you in even the small things that he does."

"But I have to finish-"

She held her hand out, stopping him, and blinking back tears once more. "He may be the one who finishes it one day. You have to accept that, Monsieur. Have you even told him that you are ill?"

Erik shook his head slightly. "The less he knows the better."

"I disagree. I think it would help him to cope," Selene said softly. "Surely you realize how fragile he is. Christine's death was very devastating for him, and it was certainly unexpected. You must give him some hint."

"No," he said curtly.

They rode in silence to the top of a hill, and stood overlooking the stables. Selene touched his arm, and he turned to look at her, startled to realize that their horses had moved very close together. Their legs were nearly touching, and he could feel the imprint of her hand through several layers of clothing. What was it about her that spoke to him so deeply? Why did he trust her so much, when she alone had the power to destroy everything that he had worked for? When he should despise her, simply because of her blood?

"I have upset you," she said softly. "I am sorry, it was not my intention. It must be frightening, the position you are in."

"Which position is that?" he asked, forgetting what they had just been discussing for a moment. She was now touching his hand...holding it, rather; he found it damned distracting.

"May I call you Erik?"

He nodded slightly, though he was staring at the way her hand had wrapped around his fingers and was squeezing tightly.

"Erik, every sense...every emotion that I have is telling me that you must think of how your son is going to feel after...well. Whatever it is that is wrong, he needs to know. And he-"

"Stop." He felt his control begin to crumble, and only by sheer will did he maintain it. Now was no time to lose it. Not in front of Selene. Not mere months before the dreaded event. He held his hand up when she opened her mouth again. "I can't discuss this," he said raggedly. "Please don't."

She looked as if she were about to cry for a moment, making him feel even worse. He couldn't bear to see that expression on her face. No one had ever shed a tear for him. Perhaps Christine, but she was gone, and she was all that had ever mattered to him. He didn't want to grow any closer to Selene. He didn't want to feel anything when she looked at him as she was now. He didn't want her to cry for him. He certainly didn't deserve it.

"I am late for an appointment with Madame Prideaux," he forced out. "I have to go."

He could see her swallow back tears, and she shook herself slightly. "Yes, of course. I'll ride back with you," she managed to say. "Thank you for accompanying me. You may come again anytime."

Erik turned his horse, pulled his mask free and placed it against his breast, then rode back to the barns at a sedate canter. Selene followed, staying well behind him because she wasn't certain how he would react if she glimpsed his face, and she wasn't certain how she would react either. They slowed their horses several yards before the barn, and she held back until he had re-secured the mask on his face.

"Do I owe you an apology, Madame?" he asked, handing her the reins to Hermes bridle.

"Whatever for?"

"I ask for your assistance, and then I reject your advice."

"Well, hopefully you have not rejected all of it," Selene replied gently. "You do not need to apologize to me."

They stared at one another for a long moment, and he was the first to look away. "Thank you, Madame Joubert."

"Call me Selene."

"Thank you, but I – I dare not be that familiar with you. I am afraid that your Papa would not appreciate it," he said, his gaze coming back to hers.

"My father is not here."

"Ah, but he is, Madame," Erik said quietly. "I say no with the greatest respect, and I am honored that you would consider me..."

"A friend," Selene supplied.

His eyes widened, and then he bowed towards her slightly. "I must also decline your offer of friendship. I appreciate all you have done for me, but we cannot be called friends."

She stiffened immediately. "Are we enemies then? Is this because of my uncle Raoul? Has my father done something?"

"No, Madame. It is I who have done something, and I cannot undo it. I shouldn't have come to Avignon. Gustave wanted to come here to be near the Choregies, and he wanted to be near you. I shouldn't have come. I should not have allowed you into my home, and near Gustave, but none of these things are your fault, Madame. I am the creator of my own life, and I cannot go back now, no matter how much I would like to change things."

"And what is it you've done?" she asked softly.

"I've made a definite enemy in your father. In all likelihood, things will be just fine, but there is every chance that it won't. Madame, you do not have to be afraid of me. But I will not swear that my hands will remain clean if your father should try something foolish."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"No?" His gaze left hers briefly, only to wander slowly over her body. "I've seen you physically tremble in my presence."

"You deliberately intimidate me sometimes. What am I supposed to do?"

"Run."

Selene lifted her chin. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Do you trust me? You shouldn't. I'm not a trustworthy man, Madame."

He was so close to her that she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheeks as he laughed in that special way of his, the way that made her believe he had done all of those horrible things the papers said. If she took a step back, she would be against Hermes, and in front of her there was nothing but his masculine body. It had been a long time since she had been with a man, since she had been held or kissed. She had no expectations that those were his intentions, but the primal gleam in his eyes told her otherwise, and she felt an unexpected surge of desire. It was mad, to even think that way about this man, and yet there it was.

"There was a time in my life I would have taken great pleasure in proving you wrong, _Selene_," he murmured. "Lucky for you, those days are far behind me."

"Lucky for me," she repeated, feeling heat suffuse her entire body. He wasn't affected by her at all that she could tell, but her own pulse raced, and she felt a wild urge to lean towards him to see what he would do. And then she realized this was exactly why her father had acted as he did. There was something very magnetic about Erik. She had always felt the slightest hint of danger in his presence. Not necessarily that she herself was in physical danger, but another sort; of losing control of her will. Almost like another man she had met, once upon another time. "Your appointment with Anne. Isn't it time you be on your way?"

His mouth twisted to the side slightly. "Yes, it certainly is. Gustave is eager to see you again. I hope that since your father is gone, you won't continue to be a stranger…to him."

She swallowed, nodding vigorously.

"You look nervous Selene," he whispered, searching her eyes. "Why?"

"Are you….are you going to…kiss me?"

"May I?"

"Yes," she said, her voice nearly inaudible.

As he leaned forward her eyes closed, and when his lips pressed against hers with a firm, yet gentle pressure, both of her knees weakened. Her lips parted slightly, and she felt the small indenture on the right side of his lips with her tongue. She heard him breathe sharply in response, and he returned the same movement, filling her senses with the taste and texture of his mouth. It was as gentle as her first kiss with Jean all those years ago, and yet with Erik she felt all of the danger and desire that she had experienced with the man who had ruined her reputation. He made no move to touch her in any way, just kissed her slowly and tenderly, filling her with desire and yearning. Her arms slid up around his neck, and still he did not touch her with his hands, only that clever mouth that made her feel wild. He kissed her, and kissed her, until Hermes greeted another horse down the stable and broke the moment. Her eyes stayed close long after he pulled back from her and whispered an apology.

When they opened again, it was to a view of his hurried retreat.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Erik listened to Celestine sing, smiling in appreciation as Anne looked at him nervously. She did indeed have a gift, though perhaps she was too young to be performing such complicated songs, but when she was on stage she was no longer a girl but a performer. An excellent one, at that. He had arrived in the middle of her lesson, not at the beginning as Anne had requested, but she seemed neither angry nor curious at his tardiness. His mind was still spinning slightly from his encounter with Selene, and while he listened to Celestine's powerful young voice he wondered what had come over him in the stable. He certainly hadn't been thinking, and it wasn't until he had gotten into the car and driven several miles back towards Paris before he realized what he'd been feeling.

An emotion so rare and unexpected, that he'd felt the need to pull over to the side of the road to prevent an accident, because his hands had begun to shake so badly. A need so frightening that he had come very close to calling Anne and canceling his visit with her.

But to do what? Sit around and think of how he had suddenly realized that Raoul de Chagny's niece was unaccountably pretty? To think of how his body had reacted when her eyes had fluttered when she had said yes to his mad query? The surge of desire that had gone through him when he realized he wanted to? And then the actual moment of madness itself that had lasted less than a full sixty seconds, but which he had wanted to last forever. Not that he'd never thought of these things in passing...he was a man, after all. Selene was beautiful, and her lips were a painted perpetual red that drew his gaze quite often. But never before had he come so close...and never in his entire life had he wanted to take something so much. Perhaps he had only done it to irritate Alfred, yet he knew that even under torture he would never admit what he had done. What he felt when he had kissed Selene was certainly not the same sort of innocent tenderness he'd felt for Christine. Selene and her pale skin, Selene and her confident, no nonsense manner, with her long dark hair and deep blue eyes...she had bewitched him. He could feel her, see her, smell her even now, in this sunlit room. Like a fever...or perhaps the beginning of an obsession that he had not asked for and did not want.

He didn't need free time...not right now. He needed noise and distraction, and right now, Celestine was doing an excellent job of it.

"Well?" Anne asked, glancing at him nervously.

"She's very good," he murmured honestly.

Her face relaxed into an expression of relief, and he realized that she'd been worried he would dismiss Celestine the way he had dismissed her play as nonsense. He nodded towards the girl, who still sang with joyousness and sweetness that even Christine had not been able to manage at that age.

"You do not know who her parents are?"

Anne shook her head slightly, her blond curls bobbing around her face. "No, she was abandoned. No note. Nothing. I've been so afraid of someone coming forward...someone who would not be good for her life and try to claim her. To take her from my home and exploit her gift."

"Has anyone tried?"

"No," she said hesitantly. "There have been recent questions from the orphanage. They do not think that she should be trained as an opera singer. They think I should bring her up as a lady, and they are looking into a permanent home for her."

"And they will not allow you to adopt her because you are unmarried?"

"No. They will not."

Their eyes met briefly, and he was thrilled to realize that there was no sudden jolt of desire when he looked at Anne, nor was there even the slightest urge to kiss her. Not that she wasn't lovely. In a classical sense, she was probably considered by many to be far more beautiful than Selene, but he was not drawn to Anne. His heart did not pound when he thought of her. His palms did not sweat. He was startled to realize that he'd felt these things around Selene before, yet dismissed the signs as his own normal social awkwardness.

"If we marry that would solve your problem," he said quietly. "How long does the adoption process take?"

"A few weeks at most," she whispered, blushing slightly. "I haven't made up my mind yet, Monsieur Younger."

"I believe I have made up mine," he returned impulsively. "I choose you, Anne, if you would do me the honor."

Her eyebrows rose. "And what about Gustave? We are barely acquainted."

"I trust that you will do the Christian thing and raise my son; love him as you do Celestine."

"And what if he does not like me?"

"I will arrange for you to come over this week. Bring your daughter. We will...picnic beside the lake, and let the children play. Would that be agreeable?"

She nodded slightly.

Erik returned his attention to the girl, feeling slightly annoyed with himself for ever speaking. He had not intended to rush things with Anne. He wasn't certain that she _was_ the one for Gustave. His mind was clouded with images of Selene, and he'd panicked. Anne was a safety net that he'd run to in desperation. His feelings for her, or the lack thereof, were safe.

"She sounds tired," Erik said suddenly, watching Celestine's face. "Stop her, before she ruins her voice. How long has she been singing?"

Anne clapped her hands once, and the girl stopped, touching her throat slightly. "Nearly an hour now. Celestine, come here. Are you feeling alright?"

The girl shook her head slightly, and as she approached Anne placed her palm against her forehead.

"She's warm. She was fine this morning."

"Your voice is very beautiful, mademoiselle," Erik said gently. "You knew long ago that you should have stopped. Why didn't you?"

She raised her eyes to his briefly, only speaking when Anne nudged her.

"Mother wanted you to hear me sing."

"And so I have. But you must never strain your voice. Not for anyone. Not even if your mother asks it of you, or you will never be able to sing. That is your dream, child, is it not?"

Celestine nodded, meeting his eyes once more. She stared at his mask for several moments, then her gaze wavered somewhere between his nose and chin. "Mother says that you are a great musician and that I must listen to your advice."

"That is today's lesson." He stood and bowed to them both, turning his attention to Anne. "I will leave you so that she may rest. If she is feeling better later this week, we will have our picnic."

"Will you give this to Gustave?" Celestine asked shyly, holding up a small envelope.

Erik smiled at the prospect of delivering a love note to his son, and examined the childish, feminine handwriting on the outside with great interest. The girl blushed. "I would be so honored, Mademoiselle Danton."

* * *

><p>Selene was sound asleep when the telephone rang in the hallway. Her body protested as she got out of bed, but by the time she'd staggered to the door, her aunt had made it downstairs and was speaking quietly to someone.<p>

"Why yes. Yes, I'll be sure to tell her." Her aunt laughed at something the caller was saying. "Thank you, Monsieur. What was your name again? Squeal? Kelp? Thank you, Monsieur Felt. I will let Selene know at once."

"Is something wrong?" She asked after her aunt had set down the receiver. "Is it Monsieur Younger? Is he alright?"

"Young Gustave has fallen ill. He is asking for you to come over. Chickenpox, the doctor thinks. They wanted to know if you had ever had it before."

"Ah, poor child." Selene glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight, and if she remembered correctly, there was not much to be done for a child except for rest and something soothing to put on the skin. "I'll go over first thing in the morning then."  
>"Oh, no. Monsieur Felt is coming over now to pick you up. Monsieur Younger has never had the chickenpox, and the doctor won't let him in the room. Go on, girl, get dressed!"<p>

Feeling a flutter of nervousness, Selene turned and rushed back up the stairs, hurriedly throwing on a gown and washing her face. She ran a brush through her hair and left it unbound then went down to the pantry beside the kitchen and took the oatmeal canister from the counter. She left a note for Chef Batiste, asking him to make some of his delicious chicken consommé and have it delivered the next day to Monsieur Younger's residence. She had just finished when she heard a car outside.

"Good evening, Madame," Squelch greeted her, sounding very tired. "What is that?"

"This?" She held up the canister as she got into the car. "Oatmeal. All that I remember of having the chickenpox was my nurse making my sister and I bathe in it. I can't recall if it worked, but perhaps it will relieve some of Gustave's discomfort. Is he very sick?"

"Hard to say, Madame. It's in the very early stages. The doctor just left, but Monsieur Younger….well. I've never seen him so distraught."

"And he's never had the chickenpox?"  
>"Says he hasn't." Squelch shrugged as he put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. "But Master Gustave asked for you, and Monsieur Younger insisted that I bring you back for him at once."<p>

"I see," Selene said quietly.

The house was completely illuminated when they arrived. She thanked Squelch, then let him tend to parking the car as she went inside. Erik was standing at the foot of the staircase, a look of worry and impatience in his eyes.

"Selene, thank you for coming," he began, sounding even more tired than she felt. "I apologize for the lateness of the hour."

"Nonsense. If Gustave needs me, then I want to be here for him. He's upstairs?"

Erik nodded, then glanced at the container in her arms. "Oatmeal? I read that it can help with the rashes, but we haven't any. He's not quite itching…the doctor says very soon he will be."

"He's fevered now?"

"Yes. You can go on up. I was told to stay away for two weeks," he said, sounding forlorn.

"I'll take care of him, Erik. You go rest for now. There's nothing to be done except waiting for it to run its course."

The look of worry in his eyes did not diminish even slightly. Selene patted his shoulder comfortingly, then made her way to Gustave's room. He was propped up in bed reading, and his slight face lit up when he saw her come in.

"Cousin Selene! What are you doing here so late?"

"Visiting my favorite little boy in the whole world."

He made a face. "I'm not _little_, Cousin Selene. I'm almost twelve."

She smiled. "And so you are. In eight more months, that is."

He closed his eyes as she felt his forehead. He was quite warm, but she did not think that his fever had risen too much. Spots had begun to appear beneath the surface of his skin, but they were not yet blistered. He would probably be very miserable the next evening, but for now there was nothing to do but wait.

"I hurt all over. Even my _legs_."

"Can I get you anything? Water? Food?"

He shook his head. "Mr. Squelch fed me earlier. I wasn't hungry. I want to sleep, but I can't."

"What's wrong?"

"Erik keeps knocking and asking if I need anything. The doctor told him not to come in-"

"_Gustave?"_

Selene smiled wryly as Erik knocked on the door, interrupting them.

"Everything is fine, Monsieur. Do you need something?"

"No."

He strode away from the door, and it sounded like there were ten of him leaving. Selene gave Gustave a wry smile at the look he gave her.

"Let me talk to your father a few minutes. I'll be right back."

She found Erik sitting at the bottom of the stairs, his knees propped on his elbows, and chewing on the tip of his thumb. Had his expression not been so sober, she might have laughed at how worried he was, but she reminded herself he had not been a father for very long. Gustave might have been a newborn, for all the worry he was giving Erik Younger. Thank heavens he was distracted so much, she thought, this being their first encounter since that strange intoxicating day in the stable. He had avoided her quite easily for the past few days and she had found him on her mind far often than he should have been there.

"This is very normal, you know," she said patiently, sitting down beside him on the stairs. "A rite of passage for nearly all children. You have nothing to fear."

"That isn't true. Children _die_ from this. The doctor admitted it to me not two hours ago."

"Gustave will be fine. He needs rest, and soup, and love, and in a week he will be back to normal."

He stared at the entrance without really seeing it. For a moment she thought he might weep, but the expression on his face only grew more distant and cold.

"I wonder what is normal for him?" he finally whispered. "Christine would have been at his side, taking care of him, making sure that his every need was attended to. I cannot even comfort him. I can't even enter the _room_."

"He understands, Erik. No one thinks ill of you because you have never had the chickenpox and cannot take care of him." Selene patted his shoulder. "Why don't you get some rest? I will let you know immediately if he becomes worse."

He shook his head. "No, I can't sleep."

"I'm going to see if I can get Gustave to then. He needs his rest," she said pointedly.

"There is a phonograph in his room. Music puts him right out."

She hesitated a moment before she left. It was not proper for her to stay the night here, alone with him, chaperoned only by a sick child. If her father found out, he would be more than furious. He would be disappointed, and that alone she could not bear again.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" he murmured absently.

"Would you allow Gustave to come home with me? Before he gets much worse...he will have excellent care, and there will be less danger of your catching it. Not to mention propriety."

"To hell with propriety! Must I leave?" he demanded.

She looked at him uncertainly.

"I will go to my workshop. If anything changes, Mr. Squelch will come and get me."


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Selene watched him slam out the front door and then she returned to Gustave's room, only to find the boy sleeping. Tiptoeing down the hall, she explored the rest of Erik's home with a nervous fascination, staying clear of the large master bedroom at the end of the hall, and his study, which was locked, as was one other room upstairs. He had a beautiful art gallery, and had commissioned several paintings of Gustave obviously done within the last year. Seeing them made her think of a small portrait that Christine had given to her two or three years prior of she and Gustave. They had not been able to afford anything larger, but it was a beautiful little painting. She would give it to Gustave when he was feeling better. The boy had absolutely nothing of his mother's. Not her jewelry, which her uncle had certainly sold long ago, and none of her personal items, which were still at the house in Paris. He would certainly have anything and everything materially that Erik could provide, and she wondered if any of it would be a comfort to him.

She had just entered a small sitting room in an upstairs bedroom next to Gustave when she heard him retching. She rushed back into his room, finding he'd vomited all over himself and the bed. He was staring vacantly down at the former contents of his stomach and looking as if he might retch again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, looking shame faced.

"Shh. Let's get you cleaned up." She helped him to the bath and ran the water for him, noticing as he removed his shirt that he did indeed have the beginnings of a rash on his back. As he bathed she rang the bed pull and assisted Miss Fleck in changing the bed sheets. The other woman, obviously not accustomed to catering to anyone in the middle of the night, hardly spoke to her and twice Selene thought she might have to finish the task alone as Miss Fleck had a remarkably weak stomach.

With Gustave safely back in bed she curled up in a chair next to him and slept for a couple of hours, only waking when the sun began to shine through the curtains. She slipped quietly out of the room, nearly running into Miss Fleck as she closed the door behind her.

"Madame, is he alright this morning? Monsieur Younger wanted Mr. Squelch to bring him news first thing."

"He's fine," Selene whispered. "Is there somewhere I can freshen up? I need to return home, but I can't go looking like this."

"Monsieur Younger's room. The other baths, besides Master Gustave's, are not finished yet. It's this way."

She hesitated only for a second, curiosity getting the best of her after only a few moments. Miss Fleck led her into a spacious bedroom, which was surprisingly sparsely furnished. With the exception of the large bed, and a night table, there was not much else in the room. It smelled of sandalwood and citrus, and the walls were painted French blue several shades lighter than Gustave's, and trimmed in white and gold. She thanked Miss Fleck after she showed her where the bath was located, and undressed, sinking into the large tub with pleasure. Her aunt's townhouse, while beautiful and luxurious, was not quite as grand as this. She studied the tile patterns on the walls as she washed her hair with his soap, then wrapped herself in his robe and returned to the bedroom.

"What is it about you, Erik?" she whispered to herself, shivering inside as she recalled his unexpected, sensual kiss.

She didn't touch anything in his room, not quite daring enough to be that nosy, but the desire to know more about him was nearly overwhelming. And yet, she acknowledged, she probably knew more about him than most. More than Gustave. She had the strangest urge to be closer to him, but perhaps that was only in a literal, or physical sense. He made her feel strange whenever he was near.

She started as someone knocked gently on the door.

"Madame?"

Relief and disappointment coursed through her as she recognized the flat American accent of Miss Fleck.

"In a moment," she called, going back for her clothes and dressing quickly. She used his brush on her hair, braiding it loosely down her back, and joined the contortionist maid in the hall.

"Monsieur Younger has a visitor. I wondered if you would like to receive her?"

"Her?"

"Madame Prideaux?"

"Oh. Certainly." She followed Miss Fleck downstairs to where Anne waited in the sitting room. To say her friend was surprised to see her was an understatement.

"Selene! I wasn't expecting you," Anne said, her eyes wide.

"Gustave has the chickenpox. Monsieur Younger is staying at his workshop because he's never had it." She blushed as the speculative look faded from her friends eyes. "Would you like to come upstairs to visit him?"

"Oh, of course," Anne said softly. "Actually, Celestine has it as well. She must have passed it on to him, poor thing. I couldn't reach Monsieur Younger on the telephone to let him know that our outing today must be canceled."

"I believe the only one is in his study, and it's locked. I tried to convince him to let me take Gustave home with me, but he wouldn't allow it. He's very worried about him."

"He should be more concerned with himself," Anne admonished softly. "If he's never had it...I've heard it can be far more dangerous for an adult to catch it than a child. And if he's already ill...I hate to think what it might mean for his health."

Selene glanced away, feeling a wall of depression weighing down on her. She kept forgetting, somehow, that his time here was limited. She had not even started to repair the rift between father and son, and now there was at least two weeks they would be forced to be apart.

"Anne...has he said what his illness is?" she asked softly, stopping her at the landing.

"No. I have a feeling that he won't." She seemed to hesitate a moment, then leaned towards her slightly. "I've never seen him eat."

"Never..." Selene frowned. "Why, I haven't either, but I have never been around him at mealtimes."

"He and Gustave dined with us last week. He did not touch the food. And again two nights later...nothing. He drank his wine, but I am not even sure he ever lifted his fork. I fear that he is more ill than he is letting on."

"I pray you are not right...for Gustave's sake."

Gustave was lying on his side when they entered, his covers kicked off completely and shivering in the middle of his bed. Anne scolded him immediately, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"You'll catch your death, young man. Keep these blankets on, it's the only way to make sure your fever breaks! How do you feel?"

His teeth chattered in response, and Selene watched, humbled as Anne took charge, ordering soup from the kitchen and bathing the child's face with a cool clothe. Gustave didn't protest, but his eyes sought her out a couple of times, as if willing her to intervene in his torture.

"Wh-where is my father?" he whispered once she had finished and tucked him tightly back into bed.

"He's at his workshop. He wants to be here, sweetheart."

The boy's eyes filled with tears, but he nodded bravely. Selene held back as Anne went to him, knowing this was the way it was supposed to be. She was not to be his guardian. She was not his mother. But it broke her heart that she couldn't comfort him, that she had no right to keep interfering in the bond that was trying to form between Anne and Gustave. She stepped out of the room, silently battling tears for a moment until Anne joined her in the hall, then she quickly put them away.

"I must get back to Celestine. Will you be staying here?"

"Yes, unless Monsieur Younger can be reasoned with, which I doubt," Selene murmured.

"Perhaps..." Anne hesitated a moment. "Perhaps he will let me take Gustave home with me. After all, that is to be my role, and it would be no trouble to keep both children with me. Easier, because then I would not be so worried for Gustave while I am with Celestine. Do you think he would agree?"

"I...I don't know."

"Would you ask him for me, Selene? Please?"

"Me?" she replied, bewildered. "Why me?"

"He trusts you. And I would like for him to trust me too, and I can prove it to him by caring for Gustave just as I do my daughter. Please? Say that you will."

"He doesn't trust me. If he did, he would allow Gustave to stay with me, instead of keeping him here."

Anne's expression softened. "He really is worried for him then, isn't he? I don't understand him. One moment he is so angry that I am afraid to even speak to him, and the next..."

"He fills your heart with sadness," Selene finished softly. She put her arm through Anne's and led her downstairs. "I'll ask him. Come by this evening, if you can. We'll ask together. He can't possibly say no to us both."

Her friend smiled mischievously. "Of course he can't. Bless you, Selene. Bless you, and thank you for introducing us. He did propose to me, you know. Just two days ago. I have not answered him, but I am beginning to feel that perhaps Monsieur Younger's offer is what is best for Celestine and I. And perhaps for a time, we can be happy. As a family."

She left before seeing the tears that fell from Selene's eyes. Tears of sorrow, for a man who had vowed never to love, and who did not want to be loved. Not even by his own son. Who had proposed marriage to another woman the very same day he kissed her in the stable. She shook herself, vowing to harden her heart. It would not be broken again, and certainly not for someone who could not have her and would never want her. Selene returned home and changed, bringing her chef's consumme soup back for Gustave later in the day. Erik had already come and gone, leaving his study unlocked so she could use his phone. Evening began to pass before Anne called. The workshop was without a phone, and Gustave was sleeping, so they arranged to meet there as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Selene met her near the front door, and they stood outside for a moment nervously before knocking.

It was several minutes before they heard anyone stir inside, and then the door was pulled open forcefully. They stepped closer to each other slightly at the shadowed figure that came from the dark workshop.

"Is it Gustave?" Erik asked after a long silence. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Selene said quickly. "Anne and I wanted to speak to you. May we come in?"

He threw the door open the rest of the way and left them standing outside. As they followed him, not into the workshop, but up the stairs, it was apparent that he had been drinking – heavily. His breathing was awkward, his steps not steady. As he reached the top of the stairs he nearly fell, and Selene rushed to steady him.

"Stop," he whispered, turning his face away from her. He pushed against her upper chest with the heel of his hand. "Stay back."

"But-"

"Stay," he ordered again. He fumbled towards his desk, knocking papers aside, muttering beneath his breath. At once they could both see that he was not wearing his mask, and that he had no idea where it was. Angrily, he turned towards the lamp and turned it down, almost extinguishing it entirely. Once his temper had subsided, he sat down heavily at his desk, and poured himself another drink.

"I think we should leave," Anne said softly.

"No." Selene turned to her. "This could work in our favor."

"He's drunk. And angry."

"But certainly not deaf," he replied mildly. "What is it that I can do to help you ladies this fine evening?"

"We...we wanted to let you know that Gustave is feeling fine," Selene began carefully.

"I know for a fact that he is not, since I visited him this afternoon."

"You visited him? In the sickroom?"

"Well, I certainly didn't order him out of bed."

Selene stepped closer to this desk, and he leaned back in his chair, further into the shadows. "You should not be in any sickroom, in your condition."

His laughter floated across the room. "Your concern is touching, Madame Joubert, as always. I stood in the doorway. Safely away from my son."

"We...or rather, I," Anne pitched in, "wondered if you would let him stay with Celestine and I for a few days. It would be no trouble, Monsieur, and it would give us an opportunity to get to know one another. Not that Madame Joubert isn't doing a fine job...she is...its just that..."

"It will not be Madame Joubert he will live with. Is that what you are saying?" he asked quietly.

"Not...not precisely."

Selene lowered her gaze to the floor, unwilling to allow any emotion to show in her eyes. "She means that Gustave needs to bond with her, and not with me. He needs to love her. Not me."

"Oh, Selene...I..."

"It's alright," she said quietly. "And you are quite right. If I spend more time with him than you, it will be harder for him once his father is gone, because I would no longer have the right..."

Erik sighed. "You two are giving me a headache. He can never have enough love. No child can. They can only have a lack of it."

"Yes, but you are not choosing me to be his guardian. He must feel every bit as safe with her as he does with me."

He willed her to look at him, wanting to see the emotion reflected in her eyes that he suddenly knew was in her heart. He'd spent all this time analyzing how his passing might affect Gustave, and how Gustave might be affected by losing Selene. He had not once considered how it might affect her.

He drank another glass of brandy, and stared at Selene until she finally did look at him. There were unshed tears in her eyes, and a look of pride so fierce he knew she would never admit to anything.

"You have my permission, Madame Prideaux," he said very quietly. "Mr. Squelch will bring him tomorrow morning, and once his fever breaks, I will come and get him myself, though I do reserve the right to come and visit him whenever I please."

"I will take good care of him, Monsieur. You won't regret it, I promise you," Anne said gratefully. She turned slightly, ready to leave, and he stopped her.

"I'd like a word with you first. Selene, would you give us a moment?"

She inclined her head then went down the stairs, leaving them alone. Erik reached for the lamp, finding it odd that he felt more comfortable showing Anne his face than he did Selene. He turned it up higher, and waited for her to finish studying his face, then gestured to the chair across from his desk.

"Sit, please."

"I can't stay long, Monsieur. Celestine needs me."

"I won't take a moment of your time longer than necessary Madame. _Sit_."

Swallowing at the tone of his command, she complied. He looked almost demonic in the dim light, sitting behind his enormous work desk, a night sky window reflecting the room in an almost mirror image. It reflected her own face, pale and frightened, and she did her best to wipe that expression away.

"Madame Joubert is important to my son, and he to her," he began slowly. "I would not wish to see that relationship changed. Would it truly interfere with you loving him and protecting him, to have another woman share those duties?"

"I had not realized that Madame Joubert was part of our arrangement," she replied coolly.

"Do you object?"

"If her feelings are so important to you, why do you not make her the same offer that you have made me?"

"Because," he said calmly, "I need less stress in my life, not more. Because her father has promised to personally arrest me if I show the slightest interest in her, and because I would never intentionally align myself to her family, nor would I do so to Gustave. I want him to have a life independent of Raoul de Chagny. You are the better choice, Madame."

"I am the safest choice. For you."

He leaned back in his chair, shock evident on his face for several moments. "What do you mean?"

"Madame Joubert is very pretty."

He looked down at his desk, then rolled his eyes, but it was not very convincing. "Madame, if I were concerned with beauty, I would need look no further than yourself. I am not. And as you can see, I am no beauty or prize. No Romeo. No Lothario. Certainly no Don Juan."

"I only mean to say that it seems that she fits you, and she fits Gustave more naturally than I."

"That is only because we have just met you," he protested. "And she does not fit with me at all, Madame. She is nosy and bossy, and argues incessantly."

Anne only gave him a cat-like smile in response, and he drank another glass before coming unsteadily to his feet. He approached her with obvious anger, setting is hands down slowly on each armrest of her chair.

"Selene Joubert cannot be my wife. She cannot be Gustave's mother, and it is as simple as that. Now, are you going to marry me, or shall I start looking elsewhere?"

So close to his strange scars, she found it impossible to look anywhere else. He stared at her, studying her features with the slightly glazed look of a man who had over indulged, and was certain to only remember fragments of their conversation the next day.

"I must be certain that Gustave can love me," she whispered. "Give me time before I answer you. I am not saying no. I just cannot say yes right now."

Wearily he nodded, but sank to his knees in front of her, closing his eyes. He looked so tired, and suddenly so broken that she felt her heart constrict slightly. He was human after all.

"You should lie down, Monsieur," Anne urged gently. "Get some rest."

"I cannot sleep. I thought the brandy would help. But now...," his voice trailed away as he looked up at her, his expression solemn, "I am quite foxed."

"Gustave will be alright. I will take good care of him." She frowned suddenly. "Although I should probably take care of you first. Where is your bed?"

He waved his hand towards a darkened corner of the room, where a narrow cot was shoved against the wall. Feeling determined, Anne prodded him to his feet and towards it, pushing him down flat even as he protested. He seemed to fall asleep instantly, and she removed his boots before covering him with a blanket. She was about to turn away when he grabbed her arm, pulling her close. Alarmed at first, she tried to pull away, but he only embraced her, pulling her head against his chest. He murmured something in his sleep, then sighed. She relaxed against him as she realized he had no idea what he was doing, but then his arms tightened around her suddenly. His hand caressed her curly hair, and he made a sound deep within that sounded like his soul had been ripped open.

"Christine?"

"No, I'm-"

"You came back," he whispered. "Will you please forgive me? Please, I beg you."

Anne felt pity wash over her at the desperate tone of his voice. He turned his face against her neck, inhaling and exhaling warmth on her skin. She felt a moment of panic, along with something else. Not desire...but need. He needed her right now. Or perhaps just a gentle touch.

Hesitantly, without speaking, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself upright. It was dark in his little corner, but she could see his eyes were wide open and his cheeks were damp with fresh tears. The sight of them broke her heart in a way she could never explain to anyone, not even herself. She stayed, transfixed by the intensity of his gaze, and certain no man would ever look at her the way that Erik Younger was, as he stared into what he thought was his love's eyes. He touched her cheek gently.

"I love you so much. I can't go on without you."

Erik raised up slightly, and she saw madness in his eyes, compounded by the alcohol. He wasn't sane right now, that much she could see. She wasn't sure if he ever really was, as the wildness in his eyes fit him so much better than the calm, emotionless man she had begun to know.

"Don't leave me again. I was going to do something terrible."

"What were you going to do?" Anne asked softly.

He stilled at her voice, and looked away. "It doesn't matter. You're here with me now. I did not think I would be with you so soon. Soon, yes….but not just yet. Am I dead already? Tell me, Christine."

"Monsieur Younger?"

"That isn't my real name. I never learned it. I've only been Erik, for as long as I can remember." He drew her against him once more, gently this time, burying his face in her hair. He pulled the pale blond ringlets loose, inhaling once more, and she knew he was lost in his fantasy. "Call me by name, my love. Tell me this is no dream."

Her tongue tied for a moment. She stroked his face gently. It would be cruel to say it. Crueler still not to. "Erik," she murmured quietly. "It's Madame Prideaux. Please lie back down and-"

"No!" he said hoarsely. His lips grazed her neck once, then again. "Don't say that, Christine. Please don't say that."

Anne pushed against his shoulders, freeing herself from him. He whispered the Vicomtesse's name again, and promptly fell asleep.

Shaken, Anne backed away, finding the stairs with trembling legs. She glanced at him once more before flying down the stairs, nearly knocking Selene over as she bolted for the front door.

"What is it? Anne?" Selene gripped her shoulders, her eyes filled with worry. "What happened to you?"

"I...I..."

Selene took in the reddened skin at her neck, and the dishabille appearance of her friend. Her face paled.

"Anne?"

"He fell asleep. He thought I was _her_."

Selene glanced around the street. "Come back inside. Just for a moment."

Anne nodded, allowing herself to be led back into the building. Selene took her to a small sink used in the workroom, and found some clean towels beneath it. She pressed a cool cloth to her face, and dressed her hair again. Anne stared at the floor, her mind replaying those moments with him, which at first had been terrifying, but now seemed terribly tragic.

"Did he hurt you?" Selene asked softly.

Anne shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "No. He wept. He tried to kiss me, and he wept in my arms, and I swear I have never saw anyone more heartbroken. I..." She stopped herself, not wanting to tell Selene everything. Her mind was spinning in circles. His mysterious illness. His love and obsession with the Vicomtesse. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. "I need to go home. Please don't tell him what he did, if he does not remember. I think it would be best. I will come and get Gustave in the morning."

Selene nodded, feeling stricken. She hugged Anne before taking her back outside and seeing her into the car. Her eyes cut up to the second story window of the loft, and she shivered slightly.

He was lying on his back across the bed when she returned upstairs, the covers thrown onto the floor.

"Erik?" she whispered, leaning over him.

He mumbled something against the sheets, but remained asleep. She located his mask at the foot of the bed and studied the stern features, tracing the contour with the tip of her finger. Her chest tightened as she looked down at his face, and she wondered how many hearts he would have broken if he had been normal. Would fate have led him to Christine anyway? She placed the mask on his chest and secured it there with his hand, lingering at his side for a long time, memorizing his face.

She knew suddenly that this could not continue. She liked him. She had feelings for him, and while she was not about to proclaim her undying love, she knew that he was going to do exactly as planned. He would marry Madame Prideaux, bequeath his fortune to his wife and Gustave, and then he would die. She couldn't watch another man walk out of her life, no matter if it was for another woman, or if it was for death. She would still be there for Gustave when or if he needed her, but if she continued staying in his life he might never develop those tender feelings for Anne. And she was certain she would never recover from having her heart broken again.

He sighed in his sleep, turning his face towards the light. She shook her head to clear thoughts of temptation...thoughts of desire. He would never want someone like her. He only wanted Christine.

"Goodnight Erik," Selene murmured, before leaving him alone in total darkness.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Erik entered the upstairs bedroom at Anne's the next afternoon with great hesitation. There was a great deal of laughter coming from within, and the servant who had answered the door had not seemed inclined to give him a tour, obviously preferring to allow him to find his own way. He found a quite amusing scene upon his arrival, as there were two separate beds, with two equally separate children in them, and entertaining them were two equally silly woman. Madame Prideaux was outfitted in full eighteenth century dress, complete with paniers and a powder white wig, and Madame Joubert was dressed as a courtly young gentleman with white breeches on and a dark blue cutaway coat. He found her breeches particularly distracting, especially as she was giving a low bow to Anne, and displaying a very rounded bottom beneath her blue tails.

"Erik!" Gustave exclaimed hoarsely, startling everyone else in the room.

He glanced away, hoping no one had caught him admiring Madame Joubert's legs.

"We were just giving the children a history lesson," Anne explained, flushing all the way to her white hair.

"Of course," he replied, withholding a smile. "They are feeling better, I take it."

"Celestine is nearly over hers, but Gustave is just beginning to have the rash. He's very uncomfortable right now and -"

"Rash," Erik repeated, striding over to look down at his son's discolored face, which he was scratching discreetly. He reached out to touch him, but Selene slapped his hand away.

"Do not touch him, you'll catch it. And you, stop scratching," she chided gently. "He'll be fine in a few days."

Erik tore his gaze from Gustave. "Will it leave him with scars?"

"Do you see any on my face? Or Anne's?"

He studied her flawless skin very carefully, then visibly relaxed. "No."

"You shouldn't be in here, Erik. You don't want to catch this, I promise."

"It certainly wouldn't improve my appearance, would it Madame?"

He brushed her aside, and reached for Gustave again, gently touching his shoulder. "I did not get to ask you before Madame Prideaux came and collected you this morning if you wished to come. Is this alright, Gustave?"

"Yes, Erik."

He turned to glance at Selene, but she and Anne was hovering over Celestine on the other side of the room. His gaze flickered back to his son.

"If you want to come home at any time, call me."

"Alright," Gustave whispered, blinking quickly.

Keeping his promise to Selene, for the tenth consecutive day, he touched Gustave again, rubbing his back gently. "I love you."

He tried not to react when his son colored and glanced away.

"Erik?" Gustave asked softly. "Would you do me a favor?"

"Anything," Erik said eagerly.

"While they aren't looking, will you scratch my back? It itches like hell."

Startled both at his language, and the request, Erik merely stared at him for a moment, until laughter threatened to get the best of him. He reached for his back, ready to comply, when a sharp voice stopped him.

"Don't you dare! And young man, watch your language!" Selene scolded, arching her eyebrows at them both. "Monsieur Younger, may I speak to you in the hall?"

"Certainly." He patted Gustave's shoulder again, avoiding touching his bare skin, and followed her outside. She looked exhausted, though still very beautiful. Quite vaguely he could recall her presence at his workroom the night before, but the memory was clouded by a vivid dream of Christine, soft skin, and tears. Selene closed the door quietly behind them and crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze sliding to the floor.

"I wanted to let you know that in a couple of weeks I will be going back to Paris. I can no longer care for my Aunt Marie the way that she needs to be, and my father wants her to move back in with him. I haven't decided yet where I will go once she is settled."

"What about Gustave?"

She swallowed hard. "He has you, and now, there is Anne. I realize that I haven't helped you as I promised, but I know that Anne will be able to help you, probably more so than I. Gustave is not the only one acquiring new family. Celestine will have a brother, Anne a son and a husband. It's better this way for everyone, Monsieur Younger."

"You think that you haven't helped me?" he asked quietly. "For the first time in a year, there is hope in my heart. I owe it all to you-"

"But I haven't done anything," Selene protested.

"The step was small, but it was a step. If I were a man prone to giving embraces, I would give you one now, Madame, most assuredly."

She laughed nervously, but he did not attempt to hug her or approach in any way. "However it happened...whatever happened, I am glad that it did."

"I should not be so selfish," he said, sobering suddenly. "I shouldn't encourage him, yet I cannot seem to help myself."

She shuffled nervously for a moment. "Anne asked me here today for a reason. She wants to know if you would consider meeting some of her family members."

"Why doesn't Anne ask me these questions?"

"She thinks that you are more receptive when I ask."

He glanced away, wondering if it were true. Selene had somehow pushed and prodded him into some very uncharacteristic activities since had met her. Tea parties, outdoor plays, and horseback riding with her. The odd thing was, he didn't mind, after the initial terror. He had enjoyed himself...for the most part. Of course, knowing he would be dead soon had spurred something inside of him to enjoy what little life he had left. Each step he took towards humanity guaranteed Gustave's future. Each social obstacle overcome was a victory he had longed for many, many times. He had expected to be annoyed or disappointed that the last person he kissed before he died was this woman, and not Christine, yet all he could think of was kissing her again. He thought of it even now, and realized she was still waiting for an answer.

"Tell her she does not have to be afraid to ask me anything. I am willing to do whatever it takes to prove that I am suitable for her. Even though this is not a traditional courtship, I know she expects me to treat it as if it is just that."

"She wasn't sure how to put this to you, and really, I am not sure how. I don't want you to be angry or offended, and it is certainly the last thing that she wants, and I..."

"Selene!"

She drew a deep breath, halting her nervous ramble. "Sorry. Anne accepted an invitation to her aunt's birthday party two days from now. She wants you to accompany her."

"No."

"No?"

He nodded. "That's what I said. No social engagements. If she must receive an introduction, she may have one, but I've no need to attend a birthday party for some woman I do not know."

Her lips lifted slightly. "I can't say that I'm surprised by your response."

"You are not my secretary. If she has questions for me, she can ask me."

"Then you may let her know that," Selene responded. "Since I am not your secretary, nor am I hers."

She turned to go back inside, but he stopped her with a gentle tug at her sleeve. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"If you are leaving because of...something I have done, I wish that you would reconsider. I do not have so long left, Madame, that I can afford to lose what little friends that I have."

Selene smiled bitterly. "Ah, but we are not friends are we, Erik?"

He did not stop her this time as she left, uncertain of what to say, and unsure which of them had been lying.

Gustave's eyes followed her throughout the rest of the afternoon, though he became oddly silent after his father left them. Celestine had returned to her own room down the hall and fallen promptly asleep, and Anne had business to attend to while Selene browsed through the contents of Celestine's vast empire of toys.

"So many," she said, examining a legion of dolls. "Does she play with all of these?"

Gustave shrugged, lying on his side with the blankets pulled all the way to his chin. "I suppose. She's a girl, and girls like dolls."

She smiled at the boy's careless answer. "Have you any favorites of your own, Gustave?"

"I do not have toys. All of mine were left in Paris, and Erik tried to buy me things, but I just did not want anything."

"Why do you call him Erik sometimes, and at others you call him Father?" she asked quietly. She glanced at him as she said it, catching the wary expression in his eyes. "I am sorry Gustave. I don't mean to pry."

"I don't…I don't know what to call him," he whispered, his voice small. "I don't know what to call the Vicomte anymore. What if….what if the Vicomte heard that I called Erik my father. What if Erik hears me call the Vicomte that? I wish they did not hate each other. It is better if I do not give either of them that title, isn't it?"

She sat down at the edge of his bed, smoothing the hair away from his warm, sweating face.

"I think that time will help you decide, Gustave. Your heart will guide you. If you need someone to talk to, I am always here for you. We have not discussed what it means that your father might marry Anne."

"She is kind, but I do not need a mother," he said vehemently. "You may tell _Father_ that I said so."

"Oh, Gustave. Why are you so angry with him? He hurts so very much. Don't you know that?"

He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching. For a moment she thought he might open up, but when he looked at her again his eyes were again distant. "I am rather tired just now."

"Of course. I will come back tomorrow, if that's alright."

"When can I go home?"

"As soon as your fever is gone, it should be safe. A few more days."

"Did Uncle Alfred go back to Paris?"

"Yes dear, he's been gone for over a week." She smoothed his hair back again. "Why?"

"Is he going to arrest Erik?"

She forgot to breathe for a moment, wondering exactly what Gustave knew. Children often understood far more than adults gave them credit for.

"What makes you ask me that, Gustave?" she asked softly.

"I heard Erik talking to his friend from Persia," he whispered. "He did something bad, didn't he?"

She sighed, trying to think of a reasonable explanation, instead of a lie to placate him. He was a very intelligent child. He would not forgive her for deception.

"Your father used to live in Paris. Did you know that, Gustave?"

He nodded.

"It was a long time ago. I…I was not there, so you should ask him these things, but I know that he is not happy with who he used to be. He admits that he did things that were not right, and that he wishes he could change things. He loved your mother very much, and people in love do foolish things."

His eyes searched hers, still full of questions, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he closed his eyes again. Anne poked her head in then, waving at her to come outside. She left him, realizing that Erik had much to answer for, at least as far as Gustave was concerned.

Anne's expression was frozen as she joined her outside.

"Anne? What is it? Is Celestine...?"

"She's fine. Something occurred to me today," she said as the door closed. "Erik has never looked particularly ill. After what happened last night, I have been thinking, and it made me realize…"

"What?" Selene asked quietly.

"He is _not_ ill. He means to kill himself, Selene. I am almost certain of it."

"No. No, you're wrong. He would not do that to his son, not after all that he has done for him."

"I think he's gone mad. He's not ill. He claims to have a weak heart. A man with a weak heart, whose heart is so weak that he says he will be dead in a matter of months, does not rise at dawn and stay up until odd hours of the night. Have you ever ridden in the car while he drives? I have never feared more for my life than when he drove me home last week. It was enough to make_ my _heart weak. I don't believe him, Selene. Not for a moment do I believe him. And I will not marry a man who intends to die while I consent to the honor of being a mother to that young boy. I cannot do that, because in doing so I would condemn him to carry out his insane plan so that he can be with _her_."

"With who?" Selene asked vacantly.

"With his beloved Christine. He spoke of her last night. Of something terrible that he was going to do. He is mad for her still. Or perhaps he is simply mad. Either way, I cannot and will not aide him."

"No, it cannot be," she said numbly, even as her mind recalled certain conversations that shed a different light on the context of them. "He fears hurting Gustave more than anything in the world. He wants his son to see the good in him. He wants to be loved. He cannot be so selfish."

"I felt his desperation. I felt his love for her last night. He would do anything to see her again, Selene. He is in pain, and death is the only way to stop it for him. I know how he feels because….because if anything happened to Celestine, I would have no real reason for living. I do not pretend to understand how he can reconcile himself with leaving Gustave, but…but…." Anne's voice faded away, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry to burden you with this. I thought perhaps you suspected."

"Tell no one of this. Do you understand?" Selene demanded. She brushed past Anne, storming down the stairs.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get the truth!"


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Erik was moving the orchestrion closer to the window when the front door to his studio slammed open. Ingrained into him from years on the run, he ducked behind a column, his eyes narrowing as Selene entered. He waited, expecting to see her father or someone else hot on her heels, but she was alone.

"Erik?" she called, her tone indicating she was displeased in some way.

"Can I help you, Madame?" he asked casually.

She jerked in surprise, then glared at him. "Why are you skulking about?"

"Why are you here? And…is that anger that has you poisoning me with your eyes?"

"When is the last time you spoke to your doctor about your illness?"

Taken aback, he merely shrugged. "I fail to see how it is of concern to you."

"Answer me. Or perhaps you can tell me his name? Was he an American doctor? From here in Avignon? Do you have one at all?"

"Who have you been talking to?" he asked uneasily.

"Someone who thinks that you are not dying. Who thinks that perhaps you are not even ill. Answer me."

He stared at her a moment, his expression closed. "Alright, Madame. I don't know who gave you the information, but they are correct. I am not ill."

"And this date with death that you claim is imminent? Is that fabricated as well?"

He didn't answer this time, merely turned away from her and faced the orchestrion. He felt her seething behind him, but he had nothing to say to her. It changed nothing that she knew, except perhaps her willingness to help him from this point forward.

"You selfish bastard," she whispered.

"Selfish," he repeated. "You think that freeing him from my burdens is selfish? You think that giving him life without the man who murdered his mother is a thing of evil, Selene?"

"I think that being a coward, and taking your life so that you do not have to burden yourself with the difficulty of being a parent, is the most selfish and evil thing that you could do to him. He has come through so much, and all you can offer him is another tragedy? Another death?"

"You overstep. This is none of your business, Madame."

"Oh, but it is," she snapped. "I warned you not to hurt him. I advised you that if I found your parenting skills lacking, or that if you were cruel to him, I would do everything in my power to take him from you. Just because you sired him does not give you the right to destroy him. Who is to say that your actions might not be the very thing that makes him just like you? Which is what you fear, isn't it? That because of the blood in his veins he will become you? You, so willfully stupid and so arrogant that you think he would not mourn you? That seeing his father, or at least knowing that his father took his own life, might not make him do the same one day?"

"He won't ever know," Erik muttered. "Not unless you tell him."

"And how can you be certain he will not figure it out on his own? For someone so sure of his plan, you've forgotten one or two details to your scheme. Firstly, you are a terrible actor. I should have realized it first, but it was Anne who mentioned how unnaturally healthy looking you are for a man on his deathbed. Secondly, a man about to die does not climb ladders to rescue women from a trapeze platform, nor do they gallop madly on horseback, and they do not maneuver an instrument such as this around as if it were a chair," she said, pointing at the orchestrion. "You would never be sure, Erik. Perhaps one day when he is your age, he might come to the realization that his father did not love him enough to stay at his side and guide him through this world. He will realize that he was abandoned, just as you were, by all of the people who should have lifted him up higher than their own petty needs. I can only pray that I will never betray his trust so badly as his own father has done. I will tell you one thing, Erik. If you carry out your plan, I will tell him the truth myself."

"You should not make such threats, Selene," he murmured, his eyes narrowing. "We are quite alone here."

"Anne knows where I am. You won't touch me."

"Because of your father?" he asked, stepping closer to her. "The man does not concern me. His tongue has been effectively silenced."

Her heart quickened its pace slightly, but she held her ground, even as his gaze bore into hers with menacing intent.

"Not because of him. You will not hurt me, because buried deep beneath your foolish intentions, you know that causing me harm would do more to kill Gustave's love for you than anything else. You will not hurt someone that he loves."

"If you believe that so much, why are you trembling?" he asked softly. "Perhaps you are correct Madame. Perhaps after long years of doing whatever I wanted to do, I have finally sacrificed my own desires so that I can please others. Or maybe I have not changed as much as I want to believe. Maybe I miss the power of being feared by everyone. Perhaps I was never domesticated at all. In any case, I think it would be best if you leave, before we find out which one of us is right."

"I am far from done with you," Selene snapped. "If you are so intent on destroying yourself, you might as well know that Anne will not marry you."

He froze, his green gaze piercing.

"Do you think that either of us will hand you the knife so you may plunge it in your own heart? Anne helped you to bed last night. She stood at your bedside while you lay there defenseless, and unmasked, and then you pulled her into your embrace and whispered Christine's name repeatedly, and told her how much you loved her. You said it with such meaning and love, that Anne knew those words were as true when Christine was alive as they are today."

His eyes widened. "I do not remember anything. What did-"

"Fear not," she said, holding up her hand, unable to hear more. "You did not ravish her. You did try to kiss her. Then again, those seem to be coming rather freely from you these days."

His face flushed furiously. "You would never understand how I loved her. How _long_ I have loved her. I will never again feel her heartbeat. Never again hold her in my arms. Never make love to her, or tell her how I feel. Those moments with her were too preciously rare, and now there is no hope. Not of hearing her sweet voice. Not of feeling her soft, innocent kiss."

"I know a thousand of them with someone else would not comfit you in any way. I know that you would give anything in this wide, unending world, for only a moment in her arms. What do you think Gustave would give to see his mother again?"

Erik turned away from her, looking out over the city for a long time. Shadows danced over the streets as the day faded into night, and he fervently wished he could be somewhere else instead of standing here baring his soul to Selene. He felt her quiet rage and wondered at it. Why, in God's name, was she so angry with him?

"Black hearted bastard. You are a cold, emotionless man, Erik, to think that your son will not grieve for you. He will feel your death just as hard, if not more, than that of his mother's. Do you even understand why?"

"Do not tell me what my son will feel when I am dead! Do not suppose anything, Madame, most certainly that _I _am cold or emotionless!" His gaze bore into hers, and she shrank back from him. "That's right, Madame. Never forget who or what I am. Why are you this upset with my plans? Do you think that I will agree to let you raise him, in return for keeping silent? Tell me the thought of me dead does not fill you with a sense of relief. You could have Gustave, and a life that you could only dream of, free of my burdens. Does that sound tempting, Madame?"

"Yes!" she shouted suddenly. "It would be an immense relief, but I would never sign your death warrant. Doing so would not only blacken my soul, it would hurt Gustave, and that is something I refuse to do. Do you want to throttle me? Here, put your hands at my neck and do it, because it is the only way I will be silenced!" She grabbed one of his hands and put it at her throat, her gaze wild. His thumb stroked gently on the spot where her pulse beat for a moment; he felt it quicken. "Do it."

"Tell anyone of this, Selene, and you will live to regret it. I love him. I am not _heartless_; I am anything but _heartless_. It was not an easy decision for me to make. I have caused the people that I care about enough pain. Christine….Meg….Gustave. Even Madame Giry deserved better than I gave her. Perhaps if I had been more sensitive, then Christine would still be alive." He let her go, his expression haunted.

"Erik, I am sorry that Christine died." She backed away from him and wrapped her arms tight around herself. "I am more sorry that Gustave lost his mother, and that she was perfect and that she was loving and beautiful. But you are his father, and he needs you too. You cannot just give him away like a puppy, because you are feeling blue or because you miss Christine. He misses her more than you ever will. And if you die, then what reason does he have to live? What reason would he have to ever compose another song, or sing another melody? If you cannot live for his love….for the precious gift that she gave to you…then you are still nothing more than a phantom. And until you realize that…it's all you'll ever be. Everything I have done you have agreed to, Erik, and now I find out that everything that I have done has brought you one step closer to taking your own life, something my faith despises. I have risked compromising some of my best friendships to aid you, disobeyed my father, and agreed to make amends with someone who betrayed me. I have done this for Gustave, yes, but somewhere along the way I thought we became friends. Even if neither of us could admit it, our arrangement has changed into something else. You used me. You abused my trust, and I won't forgive you for that. You abused Gustave's, and that is even worse. It will be a chilly day in hell before I do any more of your bidding."

"Selene-"

He grabbed her arm as she turned to go, but she yanked free, pointing her finger at him.

"_Don't_ touch me ever again."

His gaze seemed to wilt beneath her sharp command. Hurt flickered in his eyes briefly, but was soon replaced by pure, raw anger.

"I won't," he said quietly. "Not ever, ever again."

Even in her anger she knew her words had wounded him, but she could not forgive him, and she would be brutal if it meant there was a chance she might change his mind. An apology she didn't yet mean was on the tip of her tongue, but she could not give voice to it. An offer she knew would be rejected crowded her thoughts, and his rigid, white face told her that he would not argue with her more.

"Stay away from Gustave from now on, and stay away from me," Erik whispered. "Don't forget who you're dealing with. Don't forget what I am capable of. Consider our _friendship_, brief as it was, quite finished."

"Answer one thing for me, please? Does Anne's refusal to marry you change your plans at all?"

"The daroga is capable of raising Gustave, in the event that I do not find a wife," he replied tersely.

"So you intend to do this, one way or another?" she asked softly. "I cannot change your mind? I can do nothing to sway you?"

"Why would anything you have to say, have any bearing on me whatsoever?" His gaze hardened. "You mean nothing to me. Less than nothing. I never should have trusted you. I'll regret it to my last day on this earth, which hopefully will not be much longer, now that I know better than to waste my time with your foolish schemes. Now get out."

* * *

><p>Erik watched her leave from the window upstairs, wincing slightly as she slammed the door to her car and roared off. She was a very proud woman, that much he had always known. What he had not realized was how much his words could prick at that pride. Or how much Selene's words would affect him. When she had taken his hand and laid it at her throat, he'd wanted to do nothing more than kiss her senseless. To show her that harming her was the last thing on his mind. How could he still grieve so deeply for Christine, and yet yearn for this woman so much? He stared out the window without truly seeing anything until it was black as pitch outside. It had begun raining lightly and the cars crawled along the street like snails. He felt a sudden urge to be near Gustave, to be near his son. She was right about his plan. It was pure madness. How ridiculous…and yet he also remembered the pain that would always follow him when he thought of Christine. Selene had done what the daroga failed to do. She reminded him so sharply of what was important, and yet even that had not penetrated the grief and guilt. He felt ashamed of himself. Of what he was. Of what he had been about to do.<p>

Every word she had spoken had been faultless, though he would never admit it to her. He had wanted to hurt her for speaking to him so bluntly. Not physically….she had guessed correctly that he would not harm her, but he had wanted her to suffer as he suffered.

Deciding that there was no further need to impose on Anne's goodwill, he left the workshop and drove straight to her small estate. The doorman let him in with a scathing glance at his dusty clothes, and soon Anne joined him in the foyer, her face pale with worry.

"Erik," she said softly. "Selene just called – I'm so sor-"

"No apology is needed. I am here for Gustave."

"It's late, and he is sleeping."

"I'm taking him home with me. Now." He brushed past her and started for the stairs, in no mood for another argument with a female.

"Please, let him stay another night. There's no need to upset him."

"Selene informs me that you have made a decision. I have made one as well."

"Erik…"

"Was she wrong?" he asked, spinning around to face her. "Do you have any intention, whatsoever, of marrying me? Did you ever have any intention of it?"

"I considered it before last night."

His gaze dropped. "I am sorry if I hurt you, or if I frightened you last night. I have never been able to tolerate alcohol. I seldom drink, but I know that is no excuse for my behavior, nor is it any consolation."

"I did not mean what happened," she said, blushing. "I meant the other thing."

"You were never meant to know, Anne. But since you do, and since things have changed, I am taking Gustave home with me tonight. I will appreciate your discretion."

"I….I'm afraid its too late for that," she whispered. "Gustave…."

His heart squeezed slightly. "What have you done?"

"He came downstairs when I was on the phone with Selene. I'm so sorry. He heard me talking to her and…"

"Where is he?"

She pointed towards the room where he had been earlier in the day, but when he entered the room there was no sign of his son anywhere.


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

The door to her house crashed open a couple of hours after her aunt had retired for the night, and Selene heard Esmeé and one of the other maids shriek in terror. She jumped up from her morose brooding and gaped at Erik as he strode into the hall.

"Where is your mistress?" he bellowed at Esmeé.

"Please, sir, do not hurt me!" her maid cried.

"Cease your blubbering, you stupid woman. Where is she?" he demanded again.

"Erik!" Selene raced into the hall. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"Where is he?" Erik breathed, turning his attention to her. He gripped her shoulders hard, his hands digging into her flesh tightly. "Where is Gustave?"

"I don't know. Let go of me, you brute!" she said, pushing against him. "What are you talking about?"

"If you'd answer your telephone you would know," he snapped. "I thought you took him."

"He's gone?" she whispered, finally reading his expression for what it really was…fear. "How? When?"

"He left Anne's house hours ago. After her conversation with you, which he apparently overheard," he said tersely. "She knew he was upset, but she sent him back to bed, hoping he would not understand what she had been discussing with you. Why aren't you answering your telephone?"

"I did not feel like talking to anyone. I took it off the receiver."

"You will forgive me for this," he said quietly. "I have to be sure he's not here."

She waved her hand towards the stairs. "Search away, but you're wasting your time. He's not here."

He left her standing in the hall alongside Esmeé, who was sobbing softly.

"Go on to bed, Esmeé," she said gently. "I am sorry, he is a frightening brute at times, isn't he?"

Her maid whirled away, not answering, and disappeared through the dark house. Selene raced up the stairs after Erik, just as he was entering her own bedroom.

"Gustave," he called out. "Gustave, answer me!"

"Erik, he is not here," she said again. "You have looked at your home?"

"Of course," he replied, glaring at her. "He did go home. He convinced one of Anne's drivers to take him there."

"And he was not?"

"No." His fist clenched tightly.

"You spoke with the driver?" she whispered. "He…"

"The man has nothing to hide. Not anymore. I was very convincing."

"I'll help you look for him," she said, feeling her heart skip several beats. She stopped him just as he was about to go up the stairs to her aunt's bedroom.

"You will not frighten her."

"No," he said, his voice somewhat subdued. "I will try not to."

Erik followed her up the stairs to a spacious third floor apartment, and walking quietly through the snoring woman's bedroom, he found no sign of Gustave anywhere. His hopes sharply deflated, he returned to the first floor, Selene close on his heels. He watched as she set the phone back on the receiver, feeling sickness and terror overtake him.

"Tell me where he is. Consider my lesson learned," he whispered, his gaze trained to the floor. "I know that I would never be anyone's choice to raise a child, and perhaps you were right about how he will…would feel….if I take my own life. If you know where he is, please, do not put me through this torture. You don't know all of what happened in America. I can't lose him like that. I can't lose him at all, Selene."

"I certainly don't agree with your plans, and I will do everything in my power to change your mind, but I would never keep your son from you. My word may not mean much to you anymore, but I am giving it to you anyway."

She knew by the expression on his face that he had only hoped, and it had been a last, desperate hope that she knew Gustave was somewhere safe. The panic slowly returned to his eyes as he stared off into the distance, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. The phone rang then, startling them both momentarily, and Erik stared at it with a frozen, fearful expression.

"I will answer," she said, laying a hand upon his sleeve.

His gaze bore into her as she lifted the receiver, and she listened as Anne's voice came over the line, tumbling over words faster than she could decipher them.

"Anne, calm down," she said patiently. "Calm down. Celestine said what?"

"She said that Gustave mentioned going home to see his mother. I am so sorry, Selene. Please, tell Erik again how sorry I am," Anne whispered, her voice raw with emotion.

"What is it?" Erik demanded, watching her face pale. "Have they found him?"

She shook her head slowly, murmured a farewell to Anne, and set the receiver down.

"I think….I hope….that he's gone to Paris," she said softly. "Celestine told her mother that Gustave wanted to go home. To see Christine."

He turned, frustration and fear taking hold of him once more. Lifting a thick blue vase from a table, he hurled it against the wall with all of his might, watching in furious satisfaction as it destroyed a smug faced de Chagny ancestor.

"That's hundreds of miles away! Damn all to hell, why?"

Letting loose another succession of curses, he kicked the table, sending it crashing across the room, then cursed again when it sailed through the windows behind their sofa. He glanced at Selene, expecting her to be cowering in terror or glaring at his childish display, but she stood there staring at him with her eyebrows raised.

"If you're done destroying priceless antique furniture, I would like to offer to find Gustave and bring him home."

"He's had several hours head start. I am going to find him, Madame, and when I do-"

"You never took him to Christine's grave, did you?" she interrupted.

He drew up short at the critical tone of her voice. "It was, and is, impossible for me to travel in Paris without notice, Madame."

"I never thought to offer myself. He should have been allowed to go. I should have taken him to the place where he grew up, and let him see what it has become. Let him say farewell to it, and to his childhood."

"And to his mother."

"Yes," Selene agreed. "We have spent so much time worrying over his reaction to her death, that we have failed to let him grieve the way that he should have. And now he has heard rumor of your illness, or perhaps he knows even more than that. It is only natural for him to go back to the place where he used to feel safe and loved."

"I have failed him in many more ways than that," Erik breathed.

"Would you like me to purchase us train tickets?"

He frowned. "I don't like to travel by rail. I will take my car. You do not need to go, Madame."

"I insist. What if we need to stop somewhere and ask someone questions? No one will want to speak to you, or to Mr. Squelch."

"Thank you for your brutal honesty, Madame, but-"

"You cannot stop me from going. If you will not allow me to travel with you, then I will go alone."

"I am going to the train station to ask if anyone seen a small boy traveling alone. I will return in half an hour. If you are waiting outside, then you can go. Perhaps we can find him at the first train stop and retrieve him before he makes it to Paris."

"And have you create another scene, as you did here? You'll be arrested if you behave this way in public. Wait here for a moment, and I will have someone pack my things"

She returned moments later with her suitcase, followed him outside to the car, and found that Anne had spoken the truth about his driving skills.

"Slow down, or I will be ill," she said between clenched teeth.

His foot did not move an inch from the accelerator, and she breathed a sigh of relief as they crashed into a parking space outside the train station. A train attendant frowned at them as they rushed towards the ticket window.

"I'm looking for a young boy," she said, breathless, to the thick mustached man counting money behind the glass. "He's eleven years old, and we think he may have bought a ticket to Paris."

The clerk glanced up at her. "A runaway?"

"We just want him to come home," Selene said urgently. "Please, monsieur. Have you seen him?"

Erik's arm moved past her, placing a small ambrotype photo on the counter. The clerk's stared at Erik for uncounted moments, then his gaze slid to the portrait of Gustave.

"I'm sorry," he murmured nervously. "I haven't seen him. I just came on shift. Try the station porter, just down that way."

A thick wad of franc's was placed on the counter. Erik held it in place with his finger.

"Are you sure that is all that you know, monsieur?" Erik asked civilly.

The man nodded, not looking up at either of them, then resumed counting his money. Erik ripped the money off the counter, along with the portrait of Gustave, and walked in the direction of the station's porter.

"Wait. Let me talk to him, Erik," Selene called, tugging on his sleeve. "I am sorry to be offensive, but-"

"I understand, Selene," he replied, his face coloring slightly.

She took the photo, and the money, and raced down the bay. He watched as she hailed a short, dumpy man who was dressed rather sloppily for a station porter. He nodded at whatever question she asked, and pointed south. Selene handed him half of the money she had taken, and walked back to him, her face pale with worry.

"He did not see him, but one of the other passengers made a fuss of a young boy traveling alone. The police were called, but by the time they had arrived, Gustave disappeared."

"So he is still here?"

"No. He merely waited for a later train. We just missed him, Erik."

"He bought a ticket for Paris?"

She shook her head. "No. For Marseilles."

"Marseilles," he repeated.

"That's what the man said. Do you think he's trying to trick us?"

"I think he's very ill, and he should be home in his bed, not out making my hair turn gray."

"What should we do?"

"I'm sending Squelch to Marseilles. I am going to Paris. I will have the daroga wait at the station in Paris. Perhaps between the three of us, we will find him."

"Four. I told you, I am going. This never would have happened if Anne and I had been more discreet."

He said nothing, just turned and walked back to the car. They stopped by his estate before leaving, giving instructions for Mr. Squelch to travel to Marseilles, and Miss Fleck not to move more than three inches away from the telephone at any time. Leaving Avignon just after midnight, the car's headlights bouncing off the narrow road onto the rolling hills. As uncomfortable as the silence was neither of them seemed willing to breach it. Erik kept his eyes trained on the road, the motor of the car roaring, the heat from it pouring onto their legs from beneath the dash. They stopped outside of Lyon at a small roadside inn just before dawn as it began to rain. Erik rubbed his eyes as he stared at the small, dank building.

"Though I appreciate your assistance, I have had time to reflect on our current arrangement. This will be unacceptable to your father," he said quietly. "You should return home. Let me buy you a train ticket back to Avignon."

"No," she said firmly. "I left instructions that if he calls, Esmeé is to tell him I am on my way to Paris, but that I am taking a leisurely drive, and it will be several days before I arrive."

"You-"

She got out of the car, lugging her case with her. "Come on, let's get a few hours of rest, and then we will start alternating driving. We can be there by tomorrow evening. I'll get us a couple of rooms." She stared at him. "I don't trust you not to leave me stranded here."

"Arrange for a bath to be delivered to my room. If you are up before I am, wake me. Here is the key to the car. I won't leave you, however much I wish I had not brought you at all."

Selene nodded, going into the small inn and ringing the bell. A sleepy eyed innkeeper entered the room, mumbling beneath his breath about the early arrivers always being too early.

"I need two rooms, please."

"I have one," he offered grouchily. "Take it or leave it."

"Only one? But…"

"Do you want it or not? There will be a wedding here tomorrow afternoon, and the other rooms are reserved. A family wedding, you see. My family."

She sighed. "Is there another inn nearby?"

He looked offended that she even asked. "As if I would send you to one of my competitors. Is this establishment not up to your standards, my lady?"

"No, it's just…"

"I'll have you know this is the only one between here and Lyon, and the only one in the parish that offers the best meal in all of France."

Her stomach rumbled just then, and she smiled gently at the aging man. "I will take it, thank you, sir. My husband requests that a bath be brought up. We've been traveling all night."

"Husband, eh?" he asked, peering out the window at Erik, whose back was turned to the inn.

"We had a fight," she confessed. "I don't suppose there is anywhere else he could sleep?"

"Sorry, Madame. We're nearly full at the moment. He can pull the car around to the garage and rest his eyes there, but my nephew will be in later and will probably keep him awake with his tinkering."

She smiled at the man and thanked him, knowing Erik was not going to be pleased, if he even agreed to it at all. As he ducked back inside a small room to order someone to have water delivered, Selene opened the door of the inn and waved Erik inside and led him up the stairs, following the vague directions given by the hotelier. She waited until he opened the room before she gave him the news.

"There was only one vacancy. We will have to share."

"No," he said automatically, staring at the small room with only a narrow bed for furniture and no window.

"I have already paid for the room. I am tired and hungry. I will sleep on the floor."

He said nothing, merely stared at her.

She shoved her suitcase on a shelf above the bed and sat down to remove her shoes. Erik remained standing near the open door, staring at her and at the bed with a pained expression.

"It is only for a few hours, and then we will be on our way to Paris to find Gustave," she reminded him quietly. "Don't make this awkward. There is nothing illicit in this unless we make it so."

"You…you may sleep on the bed," he uttered, tearing his gaze from her.

"Are you certain? You don't have to-"

"I'm certain," he said quietly. He retreated into a corner of the room as someone knocked on the door.

"Ah," Selene said softly. She answered it, gazing regretfully at the steaming pail of hot water that a slight built boy of about thirteen had hauled up the stairs.

"There is no need to bring the tub, lad. This will suffice," she said, tipping him generously. "Would you send someone to wake us if we've not stirred by half noon?"

He nodded, depositing the pail on the floor. "Yes, Madame. Monsieur."

Selene splashed her face with the water then unbound her hair and lay down, facing the wall. It was several moments before she heard Erik move, and his actions were so light that he might not have been moving at all. It was not long before he had extinguished the lamp, and she heard the floor creak as he stretched out. She turned her mind firmly to Gustave, wondering where he was, and if he was safe. A well of tears threatened to surge over the iron will she had kept in place since leaving Avignon. He listened to her cry, and felt as if the gates of hell themselves opened.

"Would you like me to leave?" he asked, his soft voice barely perceptible.

"No," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm thinking of Gustave, and hoping he's alright."

"Are you certain, Selene? My presence here…."

"I am not crying for you. Not right now."

He shifted, turning to look at her rigid back. "What does that mean?"

She sighed softly. "It means go to sleep. I am a woman, and I am entitled to the occasional cry. Unless you would like it to be on your shoulder, then keep quiet and let me enjoy them in peace."

He could not fail to note the longing inside of him, and the terror of course, that she would do exactly that. He'd never held a woman as she cried. Never kissed away tears, never simply held one with no expectation of more. He'd certainly never had much of that either. His fingers flexed at his sides, but remained safely there. Sleep would not come to him, even long after her breathing quieted and evened out. He sat up, propping his back against the wall, and allowed himself to imagine a hundred things that could happen to Gustave out on his own. He wanted to wake Selene and ask her to go downstairs to use the phone, but she would need her rest since he was obviously not going to get any.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

It was perhaps three hours later when he heard her stretch and yawn, and she tripped over his feet as she tried to find the door in the dark.

"Sorry," she mumbled, groping for the switch. She blinked at him as she turned the light on, her hair an absolute mess, her face bearing a red mark where the pillow crease had imprinted itself on her skin. "You didn't sleep?"

He shook his head.

"Why don't you try to lie down for awhile? I'll go downstairs and let you rest."

"No. It's been raining for hours. We should get moving," he said vacantly.

She crouched down next to him, placing her hand on his arm. "We'll find him, Erik. I promise."

He blinked hard, glancing away. His chest threatened to explode from the half buried storm that raged within him. He could not take comfort in her touch. It made him feel as if any second he might lose control of that rein.

"Would you….would you mind calling Miss Fleck?" he whispered. "Just to be sure he hasn't returned, or that no one has heard from him?"

"Of course."

"I can't think right now. It might be best if you drive today. Can you manage?"

"Yes," she replied confidently. "Now get on your feet, and stop thinking whatever it is that's got you so wound up. He's a bright, resourceful boy, and he'll be just fine."

"He's been sheltered. He has no idea what's out there. God, I can't stop thinking of what might be happening to him. You don't know the things I've seen. They are far worse than anything I've ever done. I never wanted a child. You must understand that. I never wanted him, until I knew him. I wish that I did not know so much about the world. Then I wouldn't have to think this way, but I can't seem to stop." He closed his fist to keep it from trembling. "If anyone hurts him, you should get as far away from me as you can. Don't try to stop me."

"Erik," she said gently. "This does neither of us any good. It does Gustave no good."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Erik, you're scaring me." She lifted his chin, making him look her in the eyes. The horror in his own took her breath away. What had he seen, she wondered, that had him so terrified? "I swear that if you do anything to hurt yourself-"

"I won't do that to him now. I promise. But if anything happens to him, if anyone hurts him, it will rain blood."

"If anyone hurts him, I will help you," she said. "But nothing is going to happen. Do you understand? We're both tired and worried about him, but sitting here is doing us no good."

He got to his feet, groaning as his muscles refused to yield. "Go on. I'll be down later."

She straightened her hair as best as she could, then smoothed her dress out. He was sitting down on the bed, wincing as he rubbed one of his knees when she left the room. The inn was crowded, but it was just before lunchtime, and obviously the other patrons had come down to enjoy the simple fare. She asked the clerk to have two plates delivered to her room and for permission to use the phone. The man, his mood obviously improved, led her into his small office and left her alone as she made her calls.

Miss Fleck had not seen him, but she had heard from Mr. Squelch, who arrived in Marseilles, but had also not seen Gustave. Esmeé had heard from no one, including her father, which was a relief, and Anne was not at home when she called. She left a message for her, letting her know that they were out looking for Gustave, and asking that she call Erik's residence immediately if she heard anything.

She was bone tired as she went back up the stairs and found Erik still sitting on the bed, his plate untouched.

"Nothing," she said as he glanced up at her. "Eat something, please."

He glanced at the stew with disinterest, and took the bread. They ate quietly, drinking the sweet wine provided by the innkeeper.

"You do not eat much, do you?"

He looked at her in surprise.

"Anne made the observation when you were dining with her that you never touched your food."

"I suppose you two discussed more than my eating habits," he replied with a scowl.

"Women rarely are able to contain themselves when discussing men."

"I cannot eat when I am ill at ease," Erik muttered. "If I am anxious in any way, it will not stay down."

The fact that he had been so nervous during a simple dinner surprised her, as he seemed at ease on almost all occasions except for the evening at the Choregies.

"Well, I have never had that problem," she confided a little too brightly. "As you can see."

The long look he gave her slid into an awkward one as their eyes met. They both glanced away at the same time, making it even more so. They finished their meal in silence, then packed their things away. It was apparent as they were leaving that the wedding party was about to descend upon the inn, and the distracted clerk barely glanced at them as they carried their things outside.

Selene squinted at him as he started to open the driver's side door.

"I'll drive. I've made this trip hundreds of times. Get some rest."

The afternoon was nearly spent by the time that they left, and Erik sat stiffly in the front seat for the first half hour, then finally laid his head back and closed his eyes. Selene gripped the wheel tightly, finding his automobile more powerful than her own. It was difficult to keep the speed down, and only the condition of the wet roads bade her to drive slowly. As they drove through the pastoral hillside she glanced at him occasionally, wondering if he was asleep or merely pretending.

While it was true that she had made the trip and knew the way by heart, she had only driven herself a handful of times. Her parents always made a fuss of her traveling alone, and truthfully she was not overly fond of driving.

"Did you tell me that your uncle's estate is vacant?"

His voice, disrupting the quiet atmosphere of the car, made her jump. He was still in the same position, though she noticed that one eye opened to look at her.

"Yes. Just after he returned from America. Why?"

"If Gustave makes it to Paris, that is one place he will go. A vacant palatial home in Paris is a criminal's dream. Especially a furnished one."

"Uncle Raoul sold everything, including most of our family heirlooms. He did not even give my mother a chance to save them."

"I don't care about your family's things. I am concerned about Gustave."

"I know that," she replied patiently. "I was merely making conversation. You are the one who made a reference to it being furnished or unfurnished."

If the noise he made was not a growl, it was certainly close to it. She fixed her gaze on the road, tension creeping into her shoulders. He was already exhausted, certainly irritated, and definitely worried about his son. His sharp tongue would not stay idle long.

"When we stop next, you will need to place a call to a number for me. Leave a message there for my friend, the daroga."

"Does he not have a telephone?" Selene asked.

"He loathes them."

"What message shall I leave?"

"Tell him to send someone to the estate to watch over it. He has a servant."

"My father could-"

"Do not tell him anything, most certainly not that I've lost Gustave!" he snapped. "I am displeased with his interference so far in my life, just as much as I am displeased with yours. You can be assured that once I have him back my dealings with you all will be finished."

She looked at him, shocked and hurt, and found that as expected he was glaring at her. Her gaze switched back to the road as she fought away tears.

"You are the rudest man I've ever met in my life," she said softly. "I know you are scared to death right now, but don't speak to me like that. I certainly won't point out that it was your decision to jump off a bridge or shoot yourself, or whatever nonsense you were planning, that drove him away. Your terrible childhood aside, you are a grown man and your carelessness has done permanent damage to Gustave. You can lay all the blame on the delivery on me or Anne, but I daresay things would have been worse if you had been successful."

His anger seemed to swell inside the confines of the car, but he did not respond to her harsh words. He closed his eyes again, but she knew this time that he was not sleeping.

She was just rounding a curve perhaps ten minutes later, going too fast in anger, when the car struck something in the middle of the road and the world seemed to erupt in chaos.

The impact jolted him forward and his head struck the top of the car's roof, jarring him from head to toe. It felt, momentarily, as if someone had thrust a bag over his head, for all he could see where little specks of white dancing in his vision. Selene's scream echoed through the metal car, and she let go of the wheel. His eyes finally adjusted and he could only watch as it spun, unhindered, then the car pitched to one side, and they were rolling down the hill once, then twice. A second impact jolted them once more as a tree halted their progress. The car had stopped thankfully on its wheels at the bottom of a ten foot incline leaving them with a view of a river drop off only a few feet away from them.

"Oh my God," she cried, her voice shaking. "Are you alright? Erik?"

He groaned, touching his forehead, which was throbbing painfully. "I don't know. What the devil happened?"

"I almost hit a sheep. I swerved…" Her eyes were wide with fear, her breathing bordering on the edge of hysteria. "We almost went into the water. I almost killed us both! And you! You're bleeding."

He groaned as he realized his ribs were going to be sore for several days, and he touched the sticky substance on his forehead, finding it was indeed bleeding quite badly. At least nothing was broken, that he could tell immediately. "I'll be alright. Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No. I'm fine…physically at least. Though I struck the steering wheel quite hard."

He tried to open his door, but it wouldn't budge. The window had been down when the wreck occurred, and he managed to squeeze out of it, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of his car.

"Is it bad?" she asked, peering out at him.

His lips clamped together. "The car is not important. As long as you're not hurt. See if it will start. I doubt that it will, but it's worth a try."

She glanced dubiously at the river behind them. "You're not thinking of driving it up the hill are you?"

"It's either that or walk."

Selene stared at the wheel for a moment, then tried to start the engine. It whined endlessly, but would never catch. She looked up at Erik, apologetic and helpless.

"It's alright. Come on. Let's go up to the road, see if there's anyone who saw it happen."

"You're bleeding badly." She reached for her reticule and was initially unable to find it, and when she finally did, it was in the back seat. She climbed out of the car and tried to assist him, which he adamantly refused.

"Here then," she said, offering him a linen handkerchief.

She turned away, allowing him to right his appearance, and her face fell as she stared at the car, which had apparently struck something directly in front before their roll down the hill. The hood was buckled slightly and steam and smoke hissed from beneath the mass of twisted metal. She wondered if she had hit the blasted sheep after all.

They trekked up to the road, finding it depressingly deserted. The rain was still coming down, and as they looked back down at the descent they had made in the scrap of metal that had once been a car, Selene's stomach betrayed her.

"It will be dark soon," he said quietly as she finished. "The inn is at least eight or nine miles away, Lyon is another ten or twelve. We'll stay here tonight."

"In the car?"

"We don't have much choice."

She cringed at the coolness of his voice, but followed him back to the car. He wrenched open the hood and examined the motor for a few moments, cursed, then took out the bottle of wine from his suitcase and walked down the edge of the river. It was not long before she was soaked to the bone, even though the rain finally stopped. He was gone for over an hour, and when he came back he wordlessly passed her the bottle of wine.

"I'm sorry," she said, her teeth chattering. "I was driving too fast."

"It's alright, Selene."

"No. I've only made things w-worse."

"You need to get into some dry clothes, or you'll catch a cold," he said, opening the trunk and getting out her suitcase. "Get in the backseat and change."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"It's alright. We can't do anything about this tonight."

"I think there is a blanket in my suitcase. I'll hold it up so you can change too," she offered. "Please, I feel terrible. I know it isn't much…"

He inclined his head. "Dry clothes would be nice."

"I don't suppose you took any food with you when we left?"

"Sorry, there's only wine, and its nearly gone," he said ruefully.

She climbed back into the car, noticing a soreness in her chest that had not been there before. As she removed her dress she saw angry red marks on her shoulder and breasts where the steering wheel had stopped her forward movement very abruptly. She finished changing quickly, then called to him so that he could do the same. The rain finally stopped as they settled on opposite sides of the car, she in the back and he in the front, the blanket still in place dividing the vehicle into two halves.

As the light faded she removed the blanket and curled up on her side on the back seat, hoping to fall asleep and wake soon. The bottle of wine emptied quickly at her hands, but sleep never followed.

"It's cold," she whispered several hours later. "I swear I've never been this cold in my entire life."

"I didn't see any dry wood for a fire," he said from the front seat.

Selene tried to peer out the back window, but it was black as pitch. She knew that he was feeling the same even if he would never admit to any discomfort.

"Here," he said, shifting slightly. "Take my cloak."

"No. I'm sorry, I should not have said anything."

"Don't argue with me. Take the damned thing."

"We should share the blanket and the cloak," she said quietly.

"Madame, you are a riot."

"I know. I have so masterfully plotted all of this just so that I could seduce you in the back of this battered car with glass on the seat and vomit on my breath. I swear on my honor as a _de Chagny_ that I will not ravish you, but if you do not share your warmth with me tonight, I will not let you have even a minute of sleep."

He sat unmoving for the longest time, until he saw her start to climb over the seat.

"Don't you dare move," she said as he started to roll down the window. Before he could protest she had draped the blanket over them both and maneuvered her way inside his cloak. She tucked her knees beneath her chin and wrapped her arms around them, shivering uncontrollably.

"Jesus, Selene," he whispered, when his hand accidentally brushed over hers. "You are like ice."

"Thank you. I have strived hard to portray that image," she chattered. "If you only knew how silly it is that you think I would try to seduce you. That I would seduce any man."

"Please turn your mind to another subject," he muttered.

"I just hope you do not truly think that about me. That's all that I meant."

"I do not think about you at all, and I most certainly do not speculate on your….your love life."

She snorted. "_Love_ life? I am not the only one who is a riot."

"Did you drink the rest of the wine?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"It…it was the only way I could get warm, but it is not sitting well on my empty stomach, and did nothing to warm me."

"Give me your hands," he said quietly.

She held them out, her face full of innocence. He took them between his own and pressed down on them gently, rubbed them, made the blood flow in them again. She sighed in pleasure and laid her head against his shoulder.

"Thank you Erik."

His throat tightened, and his thoughts became muddled as he gazed down at the top of her head. Despite being able to see his breath in the cool autumn air, it suddenly felt very warm.

"You're welcome," he whispered, though it was long after he was certain she had fallen asleep.


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty One**

To say the innkeeper was surprised to see them was putting it lightly. He looked slightly distressed as they trekked through the front door, even as revelers of the wedding party were in the midst of a great feast. Selene's stomach rumbled involuntarily, but she pulled the man aside as he stared at Erik with suspicion.

"Our car crashed last night," she whispered. "Please, monsieur, do you still have a room available? We will pay any price for it. Two rooms would be better, but we would be grateful for anything."

He looked at the bruises on her cheek, and speared Erik with a glance. "One of my rooms just became available. Still fighting?"

"Exactly. Would it be possible to send someone out to get our things? We will pay, of course."

He waved his hand, gesturing for them to step into his office.

"It is good that you are back, in any case. Someone called for you late last evening. I wrote the name down, but it was a very strange, and I'm not certain I did it justice."

He handed Selene the paper, despite the fact that Erik held his hand out for it.

"Your Persian friend?" Selene asked, showing it to him.

"What did he say?" Erik demanded.

The innkeeper's eyes widened, and he faltered for a moment, then his gaze melted to the area just below Erik's chin. "Ah…he did not leave one when he found out you had gone. Only that if I should see you that it was most urgent that he speak with you."

"Out of my way." Erik reached around him for the phone.

The innkeeper shot out of the room without hesitation, leaving them alone in the office. Unable to patiently wait while Erik made the call, she followed him. He stood staring vacantly at his register, his hands trembling.

"His son ran away from home," she said quietly. "I would say that he is not normally like this, but that would not be the case. I am sorry for the inconvenience this has caused. We'll be on our way as soon as we can."

"That would be for the best," the man whispered. "I can see why his son ran away. There are places for women like you, you know. You could take the boy and be far away from him, lady. I-"

"You misunderstand."

"M-misunderstand?" he gaped at her. "You've bruises everywhere. I've seen men like him, and now I do understand your desire for separate rooms. You shall have it, Madame. He will not harm you under my roof!"

"Monsieur-"

"Do not argue with him, Selene," Erik said calmly from behind them. "At least you can have a room to yourself, and I will not have to listen to anymore of your nagging. As if a good beating would ever silence your tongue. He has obviously forgotten that we wrecked our car, which is indisputable, and given that he has not bothered to look at my face for longer than a few seconds, it is easy to see why he has failed to notice that I have just as many bruises as you. None of it matters to me now. Gustave is safe. The daroga has him. Mr. Squelch is on his way to pick the two of us up. I do, however, have some rather distressing news for you."

"What is that?"

"Your maid is either a terrible liar, or she simply told your father where you were. To say he is less than pleased would be quite the understatement."

"But Gustave is alright?" He nodded, his lips giving just a hint of a smile. It was as if a wall was torn down inside her heart, and she launched herself at him, unthinking.

Erik staggered back in surprise as her arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing tightly. Without questioning himself he returned the embrace, gingerly, then set her aside after only a moment.

"Your room key," the innkeeper mumbled, laying the key down on the desk. "I must see to the wedding party. I will send someone to attend to your needs."

"Where did your friend find Gustave?"

"He caught him coming off of a train, just as I'd hoped. The daroga said his fever is gone, but he was very tired."

"I am glad that he's alright. When will Mr. Squelch be arriving?"

"He should be here tomorrow sometime. He was nearly arrested in Marseilles. People were complaining about his appearance. I suppose I could have sent Miss Fleck, but she allows Gustave to get his way too often. I was afraid she wouldn't be able to bring him back."

Laughter from the wedding party startled them from their musings. Erik took the key and went up the stairs, leaving her to follow. They had a different room this time, one with a window and thankfully, a private bath. Though Selene longed to make use of it immediately, she had nothing to change into. It was an hour later when the young man who had assisted them the previous night was able to come up to bring them a plate of food.

"My employer has arranged for your belongings to be brought back, but he does not think he will find someone to get the car for at least a week or more. The bride and groom were distressed to hear of your accident, and graciously invite you to join their gathering," he said, sounding very unhappy himself to be delivering the news.

Selene glanced at Erik. "Tell them that is very kind, but we are quite sore from the collision. We wish them the best of luck."

He never looked at Erik while he was speaking, and for the first time she realized what people like Mr. Squelch and Erik must feel when faced with strangers.

"Go ahead," he muttered. "I will wait for our things to be delivered."

The food on the tray was too tempting to ignore, and she sat down for a few moments and indulged herself. Erik remained standing to the side, not eating, not speaking, perhaps not even breathing.

She shook her head, not even wanting to know what caused his mood this time. "We must leave some sort of gift for them."

"Who?"

"The bride and groom, of course," she said. "We are intruding on their special day, and they are kind enough invite us to their party. It was unexpectedly kind."

"I am rather certain the invitation only extended to you."

She smiled again, broader, but left the room to draw her bath. Erik let out a breath of relief to be alone. He wondered why she hadn't pressed the man for the extra room, and what in God's name was he to do about Alfred now. The man obviously knew how beautiful his daughter was, and recognized that any man would be attracted to her. He wondered why she had never married, or if perhaps she had been married. He realized he really knew nothing about her past, aside from her relationship with Christine and Gustave. When she emerged from the bath, she opened the door slightly and poked her head out.

"Have our suitcases arrived?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

"No. Sorry."

She slipped slowly into the room, her gaze averted. She said nothing, tiptoeing across the floor in nothing except for a thin white chemise and nearly ankle length pantalettes. They clung to her wet skin, leaving nothing left beneath it to imagine. Erik could not help but stare as she hung the sodden dark gray dress that she had been wearing up near the door, then slipped to the bed. Each of her cheeks were pink when she finally looked at him, the covers pulled all the way to her chin.

"Don't say a word."

"I haven't spoken, Madame," he replied crisply. "I do not think that I need to."

"I asked you to bring the suitcases. You refused," she pointed out.

"I did not think it would take all day for them to be retrieved." He picked up the food tray and carried it to the bedside table when he noticed her staring at it hungrily. "Our ordeal will be finished by tomorrow. I think perhaps it would be best if Gustave and I took a trip somewhere. I swear that you will not be excluded from his life, but I….I have to fix things with him first. I can't depend on you to do it for me anymore."

Her gaze met his, and he saw none of the hurt that had been there before when he had shouted at her in the car.

"I understand, Erik," she said quietly. "I will always be there if he needs me."

His heart felt heavy as he closed the bathroom door between them, and he wondered how she would feel if he told her that he needed her too.

* * *

><p>Music flooded through the walls of the room, making the bed vibrate and the walls shake as the guests below them danced and made merry, all of them unaware that the sounds of their joy was causing the people upstairs abject misery. It was not the Wedding March, or even the lively folksy tune that drew their nerves on edge. It was the slower waltzes and romantic songs that had Erik pacing the room like a caged animal, and Selene longing for a book or newspaper to bury her nose in. Anything to drive out the sound of the music.<p>

"Hasn't this gone on long enough?" he muttered. "How long do these blasted things take?"

"Well into morning sometimes. You've never been to one, have you?"

He glared at her. "Do you always ask such silly questions?"

"One never knows how you will respond. You might have been invited to a hundred, for all I know. Would you like to dance?"

"Do not jest. I am in no mood."

"We have absolutely nothing better to do, and your energy and pacing is about to make me insane. Dance with me." She stood up, smiling cautiously. The chance to be in his arms was tempting. She didn't know what possessed her to ask him, but the idea of being there made her heart feel warm, and something inside of her reacted even more powerfully. The image of him staring at her when she left the bath was still fresh in her mind, and her emotions felt as fragile as glass. She wanted strong arms around her, and his would do just fine. "Please?"

"Don't be absurd."

Her cheeks flamed red with embarrassment. If she did not get at least one dance with him, it would be rather awkward the rest of the evening. He backed away from her as she advanced, both of her hands extended.

"I won't take no for an answer, and if you still refuse, I will make the rest of the trip miserable."

"You keep threatening me if I do not comply with your wishes, and yet…"

"And yet so far, what?" she teased softly, taking his hands. "They have worked quite well in my favor, so far. Dance with me. We have a reason to celebrate tonight, don't we? Gustave is safe. If that does not merit at least one dance, then I do not know what does. I do have a minor confession to make."

"What is that?" he asked, pulling his hands free from hers, scowling.

"I am the worst dancer in my family."

He let out a startled laugh, but she could tell that he was intrigued by the idea, though he would not admit it for anything in the entire world. She was beginning to notice when he wanted something, even as he denied that he did. His expression would change slightly; his tone would betray insecurity or a forced anger that was never reflected in his eyes.

"It is only a minuet. We could not waltz in this narrow room in any case. Please?"

"Certainly, Selene. Because of all your ideas thus far have turned out splendid, then let us dance."

She blushed as he bowed slightly, honoring her, and she did the same. The minuet was unfair to women by placing all of the attention on them. All the man had to do was stand there and look stoic. She circled him with all the grace of a newborn foal, feeling quite awkward dancing alone with him, curtsying and plieing, and though he did indeed know the steps, he was as unbending as marble.

"Did you have a proper coming out, Madame Joubert?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course. I was somewhat a better dancer then, or at least I thought so."

"And what happened to those skills?"

"I haven't danced in three years. I'm out of practice."

"Why haven't you danced in three years?"

She met his gaze. "That is none of your business, Erik."

They honored one another once more, and then began again, and each time they did so, he relaxed a little more. As they presented their arms and drew right, his gaze never left hers, and as they turned the other way, she found her heart suddenly beating faster. They performed the dance countless times, until Erik at last pulled away, saying he had had enough.

It was just as well, because the music changed back to a waltz, and the tension between them seemed to swell inside the room. She recognized the signs of her own arousal. Her breasts ached, her skin tingled all over, and he had not even touched her. She had the most ridiculous sensation that if he did touch her she would simply ignite. His restraint was maddening, especially when his eyes smoldered with desire and his gaze dropped to her lips again and again. He turned away from her, and disappointment welled from deep within her breast.


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two**

She was staring at him strangely. After the music finally died down they could still hear the laughter of some late night revelers, but it was not so loud that it seemed to bother Selene, as she emerged from the bathroom in an ankle length white gown and slipped right into bed. What bothered him, however, was that she stared at him even though she thought he didn't notice. He could not tell what expression was in her eyes, as he stood stiffly at the window pretending to look outside even though he could only see her reflection in the glass. She braided her hair loosely down her back, seemed to say her prayers, and then proceeded to stare.

"Are you going to sleep tonight?" she asked, startling him slightly. "I can't sleep with the light on."

"Apologies," he murmured, then walked over and turned it off. He returned to his post, unable to see her this time in the window's reflection.

"You may share the bed with me. I promise I do not bite. You might as well be comf-"

"No."

"Erik, this is silly. We are not squeamish virgins. At least I am not, and since you produced a child, I know that you are not either. Lie down and get some sleep. It will be our secret."

He closed his eyes and counted to one hundred mentally, but even mathematics could not drive away the desire he had been so deliberately ignoring. He heard the blankets shift, and then the floor creak as she approached him. His entire body tightened in response when she grabbed him around the wrist and towed him, willingly, towards the bed. His desire deflated sharply when she shoved him down with a sound of exasperation and stalked to the other side of the bed. Obviously she was not thinking of the same things that he was thinking. Not that it mattered, in any case.

"Stubborn, hardheaded fool," she muttered beneath her breath. "We have done this before, you know."

"Last night was different," Erik replied stiffly.

"Only because we will be considerably more comfortable tonight. And warmer. You know, for a man who generally takes whatever he wants, damning the consequences, you are an awful prude."

"Prude?" he echoed.

"Or perhaps you are afraid of my father," she said, goading him further.

His reluctance killed, he kicked his boots off loudly and threw his legs onto the bed, yanking the covers over himself.

"I said I would share the bed, not the blankets." She snatched them back, trying to sound annoyed even though a gurgle of laughter threatened to erupt at any moment. She raised her head up off the pillow and looked up at him when he sighed. "I was kidding. You are wound far too tightly."

Erik's hand accidentally brushed hers beneath the covers as he tried to straighten them, and he jerked his away in embarrassment. One would imagine that after spending two successive nights sharing a room with her, that the third might be slightly more comfortable, but if anything it only drew attention to the fact that a beautiful woman lay only inches away from him. He would not protest again about sharing the bed with her. Perhaps sometime he might look back on this moment and cherish it, despite the fact that she was a de Chagny by blood, and that they had not shared any intimacy. As nights went, it was not such a terrible burden to bear, yet that did not make his thoughts any purer or his needs any less evident.

"I am so relieved that Gustave is safe," she said after a long time. "I know that you must be as well."

"Yes."

"If you want, I can continue on to Paris and bring him to you. I know that you have no desire to enter the city."

"I will see this through," he said firmly. "No matter what it brings. I will not let him down again."

He felt her shift beside him, and turned his face just enough to see that she was propped on her elbow, staring at him. It was too dark to read her expression, yet the way her body was relaxed in familiarity beside him, made him even more uncomfortable.

"I hope you will be careful," Selene whispered.

"You don't need to concern yourself with my welfare," he replied, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

"Erik."

He stiffened as he felt her reaching for him in the darkness, her hand resting lightly for a moment on his chest, then his arm, and finally locating his hand beneath the thin blankets. He failed to breathe as she carried the reluctant appendage towards her own body, and her lips brushed lightly across the back of his fingers.

"What are you doing – "

"I have seen the way you look at me sometimes. The day in the stable when you kissed me, I knew. You desire me."

"What…but...Madame, I don't think – "

She kissed his hand again, this time her lips brushing over his palm, then his wrist. She let his hand curl naturally against her cheek until it was a trembling fist. Involuntarily he turned towards her, his entire body aching with desire, but afraid. So very afraid to do anything other than dream of further moments of pleasure.

"I would like it very much if you put your arms around me," she whispered, her voice hitching with nervousness. "Only if you want the same. I do not presume to believe that you do, but if our thoughts are of the same nature, I see no reason we cannot alleviate some of this…"

"Tension?" he muttered.

"Yes."

"I don't need to tell you what a monumental mistake it would be."

"No, I don't suppose you do."

"Your father –"

"I don't intend to tell him," she said softly. "I'm not an innocent. It wouldn't matter if I was, would it?"

"I….oh, God, Selene," he breathed, sitting up quickly and withdrawing from her completely. It was fine to dream, but reality was terrifying. "Yes, it would matter. No. _No._ We cannot. I cannot."

"Is it because I am not a virgin?" she asked bluntly.

"You know the reasons would be more complicated than that for me. Who am I, with my past, to judge anyone for anything?"

"My family?"

"Selene –"

She sighed, then threw herself onto her pillow. "Goodnight, Erik. I pray you will come down with a sudden case of amnesia by morning," she said dryly, yanking the covers to her chin.

"Not likely," he whispered.

"Well, there's always the alternative. We have been dancing around it for weeks. Deny it if you can."

He couldn't. He closed his eyes, wishing she would reach for him again. Wishing he had not used his brain so much, and that he had the courage to act on whatever instinct or need it was that he touch her skin and smell her perfume. As if she heard his thoughts, her fingers brushed against his arm as he laid down, and his hand somehow found its way in hers once more. Her fingers laced tightly through his, and the intimacy of it was searing and lifting, so intense that something in the center of his gut tightened painfully. He turned to face her, his eyes searching until they found hers in the dark, his face lowering closer to hers. He released her hand to touch her face, his fingertips gently skimming over her skin, sliding to the warmth of her nape, caressing the softer skin beneath her ear.

"I have nothing left to give anyone." He brought her hand up to his chest and placed his palm over hers over his heart. "When I was a young man, I wished for a woman like you to look at me as you are now. To touch me with no terror and revulsion. No hatred. I gave up on those dreams a long time ago. I have had a great deal of time to think and imagine a moment like this, and twice as many moments to know that it would never happen. Only it did…and things did not turn out so well last time. I'm bitter now. I don't do anything with the lightheartedness you are capable of and I never have. You certainly must know how little experience I have in these matters."  
>"Is that what you're afraid of? I care nothing for experience." Her arms slipped around his neck, and she anchored him to her, sensing he was about to pull away. "I know who you are. I am not claiming to be the most seasoned lover. I have only been with one man. It was a long time ago and it was the worst mistake I have ever made."<p>

"Then why me? You could be with any man you want."

"Exactly so," she whispered. "I could ask the same of you. If we make love, would it be because you desire me, Selene Joubert? Or would this be revenge against my family? I won't pretend it's because we are in love, or that we are destined to be together. We're not children who need to be convinced that those are the only reasons for intimacy. We're adults who have been hurt, badly, by people who should have treated us better. I know what I want. I want you. I know that you won't hurt me. I trust you. I've imagined, perhaps foolishly, that you would be a tender and generous lover, and I am in sore need of it right now."

"You've imagined…"

"Don't sound so surprised."

"Why wouldn't I be? There's been no one. Ever."

"You presume to know the thoughts of every woman in the world…that makes you no different from any man I have ever met. I _think_, that you should kiss me."

She pressed slightly on the back of his neck with her fingertips, closing the distance between them by slow degrees. The white mask bumped against her forehead as his face angled slightly, his lips barely touching hers as his heart pounded ferociously. A soft murmur of pleasure escaped from her throat as he kissed her again, their lips barely parted, barely touching. Her body inched closer to his, her calf slipping over his thigh, lamenting the fact that he was still fully clothed. Yet he seemed content to merely kiss her, his hands not straying an inch from their places, one in her hair, one stroking the column of her throat. Only his breathing indicated any hint that he struggled for control of his actions, and the fact that his entire body was rigid against hers rather than alive in the embrace of passion.

"Wait," he blurted out as her hands began to stray beneath his coat. "Wait."

"You are thinking too much."

"I'm forty six years old, Selene. I've done nothing but _think_ about this since the first time I saw a woman naked. Granted, she was neither young nor beautiful, but she _was _naked."

"Forty six, and you never intended to see forty seven," Selene replied softly.

"You do this out of pity?"

She touched his face, just beneath the mask. "I am not that generous. You find it impossible to believe I could desire you, but I do."

His head lowered in defeat, but she could tell by the change in his body that he had not capitulated in her favor. She stroked the back of his neck, keeping him next to her, and was amazed when his arms tightened around her and drew her closer to his body.

"Just lie here with me, Selene," he whispered, his voice rough. "I'm very sorry."

"It's alright." Her cheeks stung with embarrassment, and she knew she would never be able to look him in the eyes again. She had thrown herself at another man before, and the humiliation and hurt he had caused her was nothing compared to what she felt now with Erik. She waited until she thought he had fallen asleep before moving to her side of the bed, and another few minutes before she got up and began to dress.

"Where are you going?"

"To see the innkeeper," she whispered.

"Why? It's the middle of the night."

"And they are still awake. I'd like to see if he has a spare room."

She heard him shift on the bed slightly, then the room was dimly lit. He stared at her for a moment, his expression guarded.

"Why?" he asked again.

Unable to meet his eyes, she stared at the footboard. "I would be grateful if you could just go to sleep."

"Come here."

"No."

"Selene, come here," he said, his voice softer.

It felt as if her insides were going to come outside when she finally made it back to the bed. The intensity in his eyes was so strong that for a moment she forgot why she had ever left it. She knelt on the bed beside him, her face burning bright red. The air between them seemed to crackle, yet he made no move to speak.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I….don't deal very well with rejection, and I would appreciate it if you could simply forget what I asked of you tonight."

"You feel as if I've rejected you? That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard you say."

"I…I know how you have reacted physically. I…I mean you do so because of who I am."

"You know why it has to be that way," he said quietly.

"I know that we have no future together. I was not asking for one. I've just had three of the worst days that I can remember, and I know they have not been the best for you either." She met his gaze. "I wish that we were different people. I'm sorry that I burdened you with this. I know you are concerned with what my father might do, and you have made it clear how you feel about my family. About me."

"And how do you think I feel about you?" he asked quietly, propping up on his hands, his elbows locked behind him.

"You don't trust me. You probably think that I am doing this to blackmail you, or to secure a position in Gustave's life. Every time you look at me, you must see my uncle Raoul, and the knowledge that my father might suddenly turn you in weighs heavy on your mind. You are afraid that if you give in then it means you are letting Christine go." She placed her hand on his chest. "You hold her in your heart, always. I would never try to take her from there. She was precious to me, and was the most beautiful, generous person I have ever met. She is the reason that Gustave's happiness means so much to me. I loved her. I know that you are right Erik, about everything. But it doesn't change how I _feel_ when you look at me as you are right now. Because it is the same for me, and I-"

Her words fled as he moved towards her in a swift motion, his arm slipping around her waist and bringing her flush up against his body. He buried his face against the side of her neck, breathing deeply for several moments, and she knew he had only wanted to silence her.

"If it were to happen, it can't mean anything," he whispered. "To either of us."

"No," she agreed. "It can't."

"Tomorrow when we leave, we have to forget, Selene. It will be as if this night never happened. I don't understand what it is I feel or what you feel, and I don't care right now. It will never matter what we feel. If it's lust…or if it is something more… that is something I can't ever have. I don't want to think of it. For tonight, we are different people. People with no past. Are you sure that is what you want? Because it is the only thing I can offer you."

In response she rubbed her lips against his. The look in his eyes set her heart ablaze.

"Can I touch you?" she whispered.

"Yes," Erik replied hoarsely. _"Yes."_

She traced his face with a slow hesitant caress. His jaw was rigid beneath the skin, his nostrils flared slightly, his hooded gaze speaking volumes. He wanted her. It was enough. For now, it was enough.

"Where?" she asked, flattening her hand over his chest. His eyes closed as she caressed him, up and down, finding the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, and undoing them one by one. He wore an undershirt, and she pulled it free of his trousers. His flesh jerked beneath her as she slid her fingertips across his side. His eyes opened, and he stared at her with wildness in them. "Here?"

"Selene," he whispered, his breathing unsteady. "Christine was the only one that I ever made love to. It was so long ago…before New York. Before Gustave…"

"That doesn't matter to me."

"I never thought this was possible with anyone except for…her."

He looked at her then, and she could see the insecurity and fear that he felt. Something he hid very well indeed, for it was potent inside of him. But the need for love was stronger, and she used that to push away his doubts.

"It is possible."

"Tell me what you want, Selene."

"Just this. Just tonight, if that is all that you want."

For several moments, he just held her and allowed himself to feel something. Her heart racing within her breast, the way she stroked his back, the scent of her warm skin. He turned her head, tilting it back slightly, and pressed his lips against her neck. She shivered, and made a little sound that drove him wild. He did it again, lingering and slow, drawing her closer and closer. He opened his mouth and tasted her. He grazed her with his teeth. He probably hurt her, just a little, but she didn't protest in any way. For several long moments nothing occurred to him at all except for Selene, and the way she tasted, and the way she felt against him.

He caught one of her hands that had begun to roam over his body. It had been far too long since he had been intimate with anyone, and all of those long years had left him powerless to sexual urges. He planted a searing kiss to the center of her palm, allowing his teeth to bite at the tender flesh below her thumb. His mouth dragged over her neck once more, traveling lower, towards the exposed skin above her breasts. She swayed against him, and he repositioned her hand slowly, almost cautiously so that she would understand where he was taking her. She certainly understood, because she gripped him, and rubbed him until he felt lightheaded. He felt her fingers unfasten the buttons of his trousers, and she slipped her hand inside, exploring him freely. She was very thorough, and she was thorough for several long moments. Unfortunately the cut of his clothing did not quite allow her hand to proceed to the skin, but it did not lessen the effect.

"Selene," he whispered hoarsely. "Please…"

"Undress me."

It wasn't a request, and he didn't take it as one. They stood together, removing one another's clothing in silence that was stuttered by harsh breathing. Selene stared for a moment at a tattoo over his heart in the shape of a treble clef. She placed her lips there briefly, feeling a moment of guilt because she knew that this was in honor of Christine.

He placed his hand on the back of her head, holding her there for a moment, then set her away so he could admire her body. There were purple bruises on her shoulders and chest, where she had hit the steering wheel, and he whispered an apology for not realizing the extent of her injuries. He was too consumed to stop. He drank in the sight of womanly beauty. Her pale, creamy skin pleased his sight. The small, up tilted breasts beckoned him closer. Her dark hair fell around her in waves, and she was Aphrodite, Phoebe, and Hestia, rolled into one woman. For the first time that night, he forgot about everything else. There was only Selene, and there was only himself. He reached for her, groaning as her nipples brushed against his chest. He tried to speak but couldn't, and then her wicked little mouth was doing things to him that he'd never dreamed of. She traced the contour of his shoulder with her tongue, nipping and licking her way to his neck, down his chest, lower….

"You said you've done this before," Erik stated, gripping her arms suddenly and pushing her away from him slightly.

"So have you."

"With your sister's husband?"

"No. Jean was the first man I ever kissed, but apparently he found her more appealing than I." She lifted her hand and traced his jaw with her finger. "Do you want to discuss this now?"

He shook his head slightly, but she saw his desire fade a little. It mattered to him. Even if she did not, he would not do this with someone who gave herself away for nothing.

"There has only been one man," she said quietly. "He was a professor. It was eight years ago, and I have not heard from him in seven. It was not a happy parting."

"Have you cried for him, Selene?"

She sniffed. "Absolutely not."

"Liar."

"He humiliated me. He _hurt_ me." Selene pressed against him, silencing him with her fingertip once more. "You talk too much."

His green eyes widened in surprise. "Me?"

"Well. You're talking too much right now."

"Show me the way, Madame."

Selene hesitated another moment, feeling her cheeks warm. "Do you know how to prevent a child?" she whispered.

He looked startled; frightened, even.

"You have to stop...separate from me...before. You understand? I know there are other ways, but I...I wouldn't even know where to get those supplies."

"Stop," he repeated, his voice hoarse with doubt.

She touched him this time, with no barriers between them. His entire body jerked in response, and his feet dug into the carpet for support. He watched as she stroked him firmly, easily, the blood rushing in his heart and in other places, but most certainly not to his brain.

"You aren't participating," she chided softly.

"Madame, if I were participating any more, we would be finished."

Her laughter aroused him. She took his hand and led him back to the bed, and they slipped beneath the sheets together, meeting in the middle of the bed and touching, tasting, exploring. His skin was like cold marble to her at first, but warmed quickly under her gentle ministrations. For once he was compliant, lying on the bed with his hands clenched in the sheets, his breath quickened with desire. He was completely at her mercy for several minutes, and she spent them wisely. There was no place on his body that didn't respond to her touch. No amount of pleas on his part could persuade her to hurry the moment. He shouted hoarsely when her lips closed over his shaft, and he stared at her in disbelief for a moment before his head fell back and his fingers twisted through her hair. She enjoyed his torment, letting him know it with a wicked smile. She teased him until he could bear it no longer, and he finally had enough, pinning her to the bed with a look of desire so fierce and possessing that he appeared mad with it.

"Enough," he said raggedly.

His hand lowered to touch her, his gaze never leaving hers as he felt her readiness. He seemed incapable of speech after that, as if he realized there was no further need for words. She reached for his shoulders, urging him upwards and within the nestle of silken legs and heat where she needed him to be, and he took the instructions to heart.

Selene clutched her legs around him as he settled within her body. She threw her head back, gasping as she was filled, as his hands threaded through her hair. His mouth was mere inches above hers as he thrust forward and withdrew. His eyes remained open, and he was either unwilling to miss a moment of their shared pleasure, or he did not trust her enough to close them. His tenderness surprised her. For all his anger and suppressed emotion, he moved within her gently and slowly, as if he needed to maintain that rhythm to keep his promise of not spilling his seed in fertile ground. They no longer spoke with their mouths, but with their eyes, hands, lips.

He held the rest of his body away from her at first, his eyes drawn to her breasts. She arched her back, and his lips lowered to the soft pink tips. She kissed him as they were joined and he groaned deeply. Her hands ran up and down his body, and it seemed as if his skin rippled like a panther stretching in the sun. He was no longer the man who did not want to be touched. Quite the opposite, in fact, because it seemed as if her caresses did as much for him as her kisses. It shocked her how much passion he released, how much of himself he gave.

He was unrestrained, totally abandoned, and in his ecstasy she beheld the most beautiful man on the face of the earth.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

He lay draped across her long after being spent, too languid to move once the first rush of madness was past, hiding his face from her lest she see how emotional he had suddenly become. She blushed when he finally gazed down at her, and his mind began to finally take in all that had just happened. All that was real, at last, and it was almost more than he could bear to believe.

"I stopped, just in time," he whispered. "What a pity."

"Unfair, isn't it?" she murmured. "A woman's architecture allows her to experience her pleasure completely, and a man's must come at the risk of an illegitimate child."

"Very," he said. "It was the most difficult thing I've ever done, Selene. I swear it."

She smiled up at him, amused and delighted that he was not pulling away from her now that his needs were satisfied. He did not even protest as she wiggled closer, dropping a kiss on his jaw. "We could practice, at least once more, before the night is through."

"At least once more? You mistake me for a young man."

She smiled, her eyes closed. "Yes. I think we did it wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Mmmm, yes."

"But I thought you...didn't you...?"

Selene tilted her face to look at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, yes," she confirmed gravely. "But just to be sure, we ought to do it again."

"Vixen."

She was silent for a moment, her eyes traveling down the body of the man who had just loved her so thoroughly. He was broad shouldered and rangy, muscled nicely in all of the right places, yet his skin bore marks of abuse that had never faded. He had been whipped, repeatedly.

"Feeling regrets?" he asked softly.

She grinned at him. "It's too soon to tell. No, I was admiring the handiwork of whomever did this to you."

"I don't want to talk about that part of my life right now."

"Why do I feel as if I'm the only person in the world who truly knows you?" she wondered aloud. "I realize I do not know every minutiae of your life, yet for weeks I have felt as if I knew your very soul."

He placed a finger at her lips. "That is dangerous talk. I certainly do not know much about you. Tell me something about you that no one else knows."

For a moment an anxious expression flitted across her face, but a gentle touch at her cheek and it faded.

"You wish to know about my scandal?" she asked very quietly.

"Only if you want me to know."

"It….it is very ugly, and I am still quite ashamed of myself. Most scandals are not true, they are vicious rumors devised by cruel people. I wish that were the case with me, but I was a quite willing participant in my own destruction."

"You had an affair?"

"If one could call it that, then yes." She rolled away from him, staring up at the ceiling. "I was in love once, to the man my sister is now married to. His name is Jean La Fayette, and he teaches mathematics at a private university in Versailles. He was forgetful and often rude, but he had the most brilliant mind, and I did love him with all of the silliness a girl of seventeen can handle. Even my father could not find fault with him, and we were going to be married in the spring after I turned twenty."

"Why such a long courtship?"

"Jean wanted to be married to an educated woman. He encouraged me to attend college…something to do with his mother being the way that she was….which was quite batty on a good day. I did not mind, really. He was always very busy, and it gave me time to enjoy being a young woman and have friends, attend social gatherings and whatnot. I confess to being spoiled and naïve. I never thought someone like him could succumb to temptation. He was older than I, and he was not like other men that I had met. That is why I adored him so much." She glanced at him, her eyes slightly damp. "My father found him and my sister succumbing to temptation a few days before our wedding. If he had been more restrained, perhaps the indiscretion would have gone unnoticed. Apparently my mother suspected something, but she was not willing to sacrifice my happiness, so she said nothing."

"What did your father do?" he asked, curious.

"It was not pretty. He broke Jean's nose, and three ribs. He was screaming in a language that none of us even knew. We all thought he'd gone mad. I don't think that Jean has ever set foot in my parents house since. I never spoke to him again."

"Who was your affair with?"

"One of Jean's former students, and a dear friend of his. His name was Jules. A fellow professor," she whispered. "He was wicked. Very different from Jean. At twenty two, I thought I knew what I was doing, plotting my revenge so carefully. I was so foolish. Jean did not care, and Jules was only too happy to comply with the whims of a stupid girl. He was involved in things that I did not even know existed." She glanced at him, finding his expression confused. "Things of a sexual nature. He…he enjoyed opium enhanced parties…I attended one. It was a few months after our affair had begun, and I was feeling particularly bold when he asked. I was quite the accomplished lover, naturally, and he made me feel powerful and wanted. So I accepted, and when I finally realized what I had agreed to do I panicked. He wanted to be with another woman…with me. Perhaps with more than one. He laughed at me when I became upset, and when I said I never wanted to see him again it was broadcast all over the university that I had actually done what he wanted…and then fell into the right ears outside of it. Predictably, my father broke his nose along with several more of his bones, and he was soon taking a position in London."

"You feel safe with me," he said quietly. "Because I am nothing like him."

"I would feel safe with an eighty year old man, that doesn't mean I would agree to go to bed with him," she chuckled. "And I did not say you were nothing like him. You burn me with smoldering glances at every turn. You look at me as if I am a goddess that you want to worship. Only now I can see that his attentions were false, and yours are not. Any woman would have satisfied him. I don't believe it's the same with you. At least that is my hope. You are the most restrained man I have ever met. There is only once that you even hinted towards acting on your desires. The day you kissed me in the stable."

He stared down at her for a long moment. "I thought you had forgotten. You never mentioned it."

"Neither did you," she said, smiling teasingly. "I assumed it was more to nettle my father or uncle than anything, since you never did it again."

He held up his pinky finger. "Only this much of that is true. And it had more to do with wanting to kiss a beautiful woman, than because of who you were. If I wanted to nettle them, I would have told them about it. I certainly won't tell them about _this_."

"And I will swear on my life that I have never seen you naked," she said with a laugh.

Reminded exactly of why they should not be together, they fell silent, each of them lost in thoughts they did not need to share. Selene traced the scars on his chest, wondering, but not asking him where he had gotten them. He stroked her hair and looked into her eyes, and felt as he never had in all his life. It had been total darkness when he had held Christine this way. They had not spoken of past or future, only confessed their love and regrets. He remembered his apology to her, how he had silenced hers, saying none was ever needed.

With Selene there was no faceless dream in the dark. He would never look back on this night and wonder if it was real. She was warm and languid against him, beautiful and heaven scented. Her lips invited him back time and again, and he enjoyed the act of kissing for endless tormenting moments without the act of sex itself. He felt complete, even if he could never say it. He felt loved, knowing nothing could ever come of it after this night.

Somehow the memory would sustain him, he promised himself. He had made Selene promise to forget, knowing that he never would.

* * *

><p>Mr. Squelch arrived promptly after breakfast apparently having driven for most of the night. He was surprised and reluctant when Erik offered to drive and allow him to rest in the backseat while he drove. Erik finally had to command him to sleep or he would be fired, a threat he had made before when the tattooed giant tried to argue with him. Selene sat beside him on the front seat as Squelch's gentle snores arose from the back, neither of them having spoke to the other since leaving the bedroom at the inn. He had kissed her one last time, then reminded her that they could never speak again of what happened. He hadn't looked in her eyes after that, afraid of what he might see: relief, or possibly sadness.<p>

He had spoken to Hasim before leaving, assuring himself that Gustave was still safe and sound. They arrived in Paris not long after nightfall and he forgot to breathe as familiar places came into view. They crossed the river and bridge where he had spent many nights brooding over which side to jump from. He caught a glimpse of the opera and its green and gilded roof. They sped by the restaurant where Madame Giry had acquired special meals when he was in the mood. When at last they arrived at the daroga's familiar flat, his palms were sweating and knees felt as if they might turn to water at any moment. He was anxious to see Gustave, but Paris itself had caused a violent emotional reaction he had known would come. The daroga stepped outside to greet him, acknowledging Squelch and Selene with barely a nod.

"I only told him that you were coming this morning. He's been very quiet ever since. Don't yell at him, Erik. I can see you're already in quite a lather."

"I've no intention of it," he said sharply. "Let me inside, Hasim."

The Persian man stepped aside, his gaze resting on Selene with utter curiosity, and hers doing the same in return. She followed Erik inside into a strange little flat that might have been a tent in the Arabian desert. Gustave was sitting at a table inside the small kitchen before a chessboard, his eyes trained quite firmly on the knight when Erik walked inside. He was frightened, Erik realized.

Selene rushed to him first, kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, but left them alone once more. She squeezed Erik's shoulder as she left.

He pulled out the chair the daroga had obviously vacated, studied the board a moment, then looked up at Gustave.

"If you ever run away again, Gustave, I will have to punish you. It is something that I do not want to do, because whatever you believe about me, I would not harm you for anything in this world." Gustave blinked up at him as if in a trance, then pulled a familiar sheet of paper from his pocket. Alfred's damned letter. Erik took it from him, stunned. Now the child knew everything. He could not find the right words, but instinctively he moved towards him, kneeling on the floor beside his chair. "Gustave," he whispered, his throat aching from emotion. "Gustave, I'm so sorry."

"Is it true?"

He looked down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "Yes. Everything is true."

"You're...you're going to kill yourself?" he asked, his voice faltering.

"_No. _No." He grabbed his son by the shoulders. The expression of relief on his son's face was like a haymaker to the head. For the first time he felt certain that Gustave wanted him. Damned if it did not hurt to feel it, too. "I'm never leaving you. I promise you."

"But you were going to? That is why you wanted to find a new mother for me?"

"I didn't want you to be alone. I know how you feel about me. I know you would rather have things the way that they were, with your mother and the Vicomte. It's alright, Gustave, because I want that too. I would do anything if she could be here instead of me, because I ruined everything that was good in your life. I thought it would be better for you to have a woman like Anne as your step-mother, than to have me as a father. I thought you would have a better life without me in it. _I_ am to blame for her death, Gustave. Everything that has happened to you is my fault, and-"

"Father," he whispered, throwing his arms around his neck. He held on tightly, sobbing, and with that one word, with that one gesture, Erik's entire world fell apart. Every belief he had ever had about himself was gone and every lonely night banished from his memory. Each unkind word and stinging whip was forgotten. The simple, innocent love of a child was everything he had ever needed.

"Please forgive me for being so foolish." He pressed a kiss to his son's sweaty forehead. "You deserve better from me. So much better. Ask me anything. Demand anything, and it will be done."

"I don't want you to marry anyone. Ever," he whispered.

Why Selene's face crossed his mind, he couldn't say, but he nodded. "What else?"

"I want the truth about my mother," Gustave said in a strained voice. "Why do you defend Miss Giry? She…she took her from me. It wasn't you. Was it?"

Erik swallowed hard. "I invited her to America. I should not have done so, Gustave. I did not know about you, and as wonderful as it is to know that you are my son, I would give up that honor if I could take it all back so that she was here instead of me. I loved her with all of my heart. I have always loved her, from the first moment I heard her sing, and I love her now. It hurts me terribly that my efforts to see her again caused her death. Miss Giry…Miss Giry's mind is very troubled. She loved your mother too as a sister and a friend. I know that you must blame her, and that is alright. We all must blame someone, but I am not angry at Miss Giry. I am only angry with myself. She was pointing the gun at herself, and then she waved it towards your mother. She didn't mean to fire it. I know that does not mean much, but there are things that you do not know. Things I promise that I will tell you someday."

"Hasim told me about the fire at the opera. About the gendarmes, and about my mother leaving you."

"I told her to go, Gustave. It was not her fault. She has ever been innocent, and I blame her for nothing. She had the choice of a handsome wealthy man in good social status, who at the time was charming and every bit as innocent as she was, or me. She made quite a bargain with the Vicomte. It is not her fault that he changed."

He glanced at the parchment in his hands.

"Where did you get this, Gustave? Did you take this from my desk?" he asked quietly.

Gustave nodded, his eyes lowered.

"These are all of the things that I am ashamed that I have done, Gustave."

"Uncle Alfred will arrest you," Gustave stated. "Won't he?"

"No. He is not going to arrest me. He promised not to do so if I did not break any more laws. He did not believe me when I said I would never do those things again. I have not hurt anyone since leaving Paris the last time I saw your mother here. I…I was not a good man, Gustave. There is no excuse for it, but I….I was unhappy. That does not mean that it is acceptable to hurt others. I promise I will never hurt you, or Alfred, or Selene, or anyone else. I will protect you if I ever need to, because you are all that I have in this entire world, and I cannot bear the thought of losing you."

Gustave's gaze jerked away. "What about the Vicomte?"

"Do you want to see him, Gustave? I know that you have said otherwise, but I fear that your words only were meant to shield him from me. And no, I won't ever hurt him. We have hurt each other enough, I think. We will never be friends, but I do not think we need to be enemies anymore. I know that your relationship with him was not the best, because he too has been very unhappy and has done things that I am sure he regrets. If you want to visit with him…if you want to see the place where you grew up and be around your mother's things then I will do what I can to arrange it."

"I have something to say to him. Would that be alright?"

"Yes, Gustave. That would be alright."

He held Gustave against his chest for a long time, quite sure that at any moment he would be sobbing like a schoolgirl with a skinned knee. They were still like that when Hasim entered, his expression one of relief.

"It is very late," Hasim said. "You should take Madame Joubert home. Mr. Squelch is asleep on my sofa."

Erik smiled at the hint of disgust in Hasim's voice. "Don't be jealous, daroga. You have your uses as well. Eternal gratitude, for this."

"Run along to bed, Gustave. Your father will be back soon," Hasim said gently.

Erik lifted him up. "I will take him with me, Hasim. He falls asleep in the car anyway."

Selene was primly sitting beside Mr. Squelch, staring at the mosaics on the wall with great interest when he entered with Gustave. She smiled, tears filling her eyes instantly to see the boy's arms wrapped around Erik's neck and his head laid on his father's shoulder. He was really too big to be carried like that, but neither he nor Erik seemed to mind.

"Where do you stay when you are in Paris?" he asked quietly. "With your parents?"

"They have a guesthouse that I use." She stood beside him, stroking Gustave's back gently and avoiding Erik's eyes.

"I'll take you there. I'm sure your father is expecting you by now. Will everything be alright with him?"

She nodded, her lips tightening briefly, and she swept outside. He wished he could stand at her side and face her father together, but he knew it would only make things worse. Even though the truth was every bit as bad as Alfred might suspect, Selene did not deserve to be punished for it.

She sat in the front seat with Gustave between them, her arms around the boy from the moment they left until they arrived at the sprawling estate. He fell asleep not more than three blocks from their destination. She pointed towards a little path off of the main drive and Erik drove down it slowly, studying what he could see of where she had grown up. Seven flats the size of Hasim's would fit inside the guesthouse, and the lights were on inside. He retrieved her suitcase from the trunk and handed it to her at the entryway, unable to stop looking in her eyes for a long time.

"Everything is alright?" she finally asked, glancing at the car. "With Gustave?"

"Yes, I think that it will be." He smiled slightly. "I am forbidden to marry, however."

"Clever boy," Selene murmured. "Much smarter than his father."

Erik only smiled, elated at the knowledge that Gustave did indeed want him in his life.

"You'll be going back to Avignon soon?" he asked.

"Yes. I don't like it here, and the longer I stay, the greater chance of seeing Solange. I'm still not ready for that. I don't know if I ever will be."

"We all make terrible mistakes, Selene. We all pay a price for them," Erik said. "Gustave wants to speak to Raoul. Will you tell him for me? If possible, while he's sober."

"Of course. Goodnight Erik."

"Goodnight then, Selene."

How badly he wanted to kiss her once more, to tell her that their night together would never be forgotten, that while she slept in his arms he had fallen in love and the love he felt had nothing to do with gratitude for her willing body.

Words. They were just words, but he could never say them.


	25. Chapter 24

Alfred was waiting for him at the end of the driveway, blocking the entrance with a long white car that was parked in his way, as if he might try to barrel around him. He killed the engine and got out quietly, leaving the door slightly ajar so the noise would not wake Gustave. He had barely made it to the bumper when Alfred charged at him, his hands reaching towards his throat. Erik blocked him effortlessly, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back.

"Stop it," he growled. "My son is inside the car."

"I'm going to…rip your heart…out," Alfred spat. "Let go of me."

Erik did so immediately, and barely missed an elbow in the face. He shoved Alfred away from him, feeling his anger begin to swell. "I like my nose just fine the way it is. Dammit, I said stop. You Russians are all the same, aren't you? Hot tempered and nasty."

He called him a name in a language that Erik knew very well, but had not used in a very long time.

"You are probably right," Erik replied in the same.

Alfred drew up short, his eyes narrowing. "You speak Russian."

"I spent six years in that miserable place. I speak a variety of languages. What has you in such a dither? Is it because of your daughter? I brought her to you, safe and sound. Well…nearly safe and sound. She is a terrible driver, and she owes me a new car."

"Never take her like that again," Alfred breathed. "You're lucky I don't kill you now and be done with it."

"Take her?" Erik laughed. "You think I kidnapped her?"

"I think you took my unchaperoned daughter on a little road trip."

"Good grief, Alfred, my son was missing! If she hadn't come along with me, she would have went off by herself stopping at every train station between here and Paris. If you honestly wanted that, I would have let her go." He combed his hands through his hair, frustrated. He needed to end this subject before he was asked a question he did not want to answer. Because he did not want to lie. He hated lies. But that was what they had agreed to. "I brought her to you, Alfred," he said, his voice calmer and quieter. "She's safe. Go see for yourself. I'm taking Gustave home."

"Wait! I have not been entirely honest with you, Erik," Alfred called out, stopping him as he started to turn.

"Indeed? As I understand it, you have not been entirely honest with many people."

"I know more about you than you might think. A great deal more."

"Well, so you found more leverage than I? Congratulations then," Erik said benevolently. "And of course, you are not going to share your newfound knowledge with me, are you?"

"It is not newfound. I've known about this for quite a long time. Nearly twelve years," the other man replied, meeting his gaze. "Someone very important intervened on your behalf the night of the Populaire's fire. Someone with more pull than I."

Erik stared at him. "I am sorry, Monsieur. You have confounded me. What are you talking about?"

"Have you ever been to Wallonia? Know anyone from there?"

"No. Not that I can recall."

"But you know where it is?"

"I have been to Belgium, but I daresay I have never been to that province. Why are you asking me about this place?"

"Twelve years ago, a few days before the fire while my brother in law was running amok in Paris, embarrassing me by throwing my name around without my permission, using my influence to incite a police mob to descend on the opera, a missive arrived from the Belgian Embassy here in Paris. A very different sort of missive from the sort that you were so fond of delivering. He knew absolutely everything about me. Everything that you know, but more, including the how and why I came to be stationed here. He said that if I persisted in trying to locate you, that I would be exposed."

Erik's eyes widened significantly. "Who was he?"

"The Consulate of Liège. An ambassador to Belgium. His name was Fèlician Couvreur."

"I don't know him. What did he want with me?"

"I assumed that you would know. I never asked him. I did what I could to tamp down the chaos that Raoul had caused, but it was much too late. By the night of the fire I was sure that I was going to be exposed for the traitor that I am. I went to the embassy, hoping I could bribe him, or pry information out of him. He refused to see me, saying his message had been delivered, and if his orders were not satisfied that I knew the price. I am ashamed to say that I left Paris immediately, leaving my family to bear the brunt of the aftermath. Either he realized I had nothing to do with your near capture, or the fact that you were not captured was enough to please him. I never asked him. I never cared, and for another twelve years my secrets were safe."

"You tell me this because that has changed?" Erik asked. "The daroga learned your history from an anonymous source."

"Couvreur, now doubt. I have been living here in Paris for over thirty years, and no one, absolutely no one, except for this man has ever known who I truly am."

"Don't Wallonians speak French, natively?"

"If you want to call it that. You can barely understand the patois."

"What do you want, Alfred?"

"I am tired of his games. I want nothing to do with you, and nothing to do with him. Since I have been unsuccessful in convincing my daughter to discontinue her interest in Gustave, I am asking you to consider why this man might be interested in your welfare. Perhaps if you find out who he is-"

"I am not interested in widening my social circle, Alfred. A few lunatics in this world are fascinated by my actions in the opera. They consider them filled with mystery and romance, and do not see them as the desperate acts of a man who could not accept his human condition. These same individuals liked to attend the freak show where I once performed and stare at me and the other creatures."

"I don't think you should count this man among them. My intent was never to turn you in."

"You want a trade," Erik said. "Your birth certificate, and the affidavit, for his silence. Is that it, Alfred?"

"I want that bastard gone," he breathed. "I want him _buried_."

Erik raised a brow. "You will have to find someone else if you want him dead. He has done me a great service, and I have no intention of killing anyone ever again."

"You don't wish to know who he is? He knows things about you, Erik. About your past, and about mine. That does not concern you?"

He stepped away from the car, closer to Alfred. "What sort of things about me?"

"He knows you were not born in France. He would not say where, but I am assuming it is where he is from as well. The Wallonian Province. He knows you were sold into a gypsy camp when you were young, and that you disappeared from the caravans when you were about nine. When he approached me, he said that he believed you were the same boy he had been searching for, and that if any harm came to you he would see my entire family executed as spies for the Empire."

His words chilled Erik. Whoever this man was, he had threatened Selene. He knew he ought to care about what might happen to her parents and sister, but it was only for Selene that he made a solemn vow.

"I will find out who he is. I don't need a protector. I certainly don't need any of you being held accountable because of my sins. Where is the Belgian Embassy?"

* * *

><p>Her mother was just finishing breakfast by the time Selene arrived the next morning, the bruises from the wreck carefully concealed beneath makeup. She did not want to have to immediately defend Erik for something that was her fault, and she knew her parents would already have a hard time believing that he had not done something horrible to her.<p>

"You slept late," Isabelle commented as her daughter sat down.

"It was a long, uncomfortable journey," she replied. "I was very grateful for a clean bed to sleep in."

"Your father has some questions for you."

Selene nodded, pouring herself some hot drinking chocolate. "I expect both of you do. Can I save my energy and reassure you at the same time?"

"You certainly can," Alfred announced from behind her.

She smiled wanly up at her father and allowed him to kiss her cheek. "I am sorry for making you worry."

"Do you know what sort of panic grips me, when my daughter's housekeeper calls me to say she has been brutally assaulted by the very man I've asked you time and again to stay away from?" he asked quietly. "I don't expect a truthful answer from either of you, so I will do us both a favor and save you from lying to me about your sleeping arrangements. However, Gustave is Monsieur Younger's responsibility, not yours. If he runs away, it was no doubt to get away-"

"Father, stop," Selene cut in, holding up her hand. "Firstly, Esmee was not brutally assaulted. I am not even certain he touched her. I have seen you in the veriest of rages, and it was no more hurtful to her than the time you caught Solange kissing one of the delivery boys from the grocers. He was very upset, and I will make him apologize to her if it will make you feel better."

"Make him? Apologize?" Alfred stared at his daughter.

She set her drink down, crossed her arms and stuck out her jaw. "Yes. He is not unreasonable. Secondly, considering that I discovered Monsieur Younger's intention of committing suicide once he married Anne, I considered Gustave my responsibility. I know that you do not trust him. I don't expect you to. But I am not a child, and I will not be treated as if I am a child. Monsieur Younger and I are not having an affair, not that it is your business. He is still very much in love with Christine, which I heard him tell Gustave just last night."

"Christine is dead," Alfred said quietly.

"I am not going to discuss his relationship with her further. It is not my business either. If you do not mind, I would like to return home as soon as possible."

"No."

She gaped at him. "No?"

"I hired some men to gather everything from the house and bring it here. My driver should be arriving with Marie and that damned dog sometime today. It has been long coming that I bring her here to live, Selene. You know that your stay in Avignon was never meant to be permanent. The house is in her name and will be put up for sale, and you are welcome to live in the guesthouse for as long as you like."

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she stood quickly. "How can you think of doing this to me? I will never live in Paris again. Never."

"It is time, Selene," Isabelle said quietly. "You have to move on."

"I have! That does not mean giving up the life I have created to return to an old one! I am not staying in Paris, Father. I have my own inheritance, and I may do as I please with my funds."

Her father glared at her. "You were not always so stubborn. There is another little matter that must be attended to. You promised that the next time you were in Paris, you would meet Sacha D'Aubigne . Sacha has already planned a wonderful evening for the two of you tonight. No more wiggling out of it."

Trapped neatly, she looked to her mother for help, only to receive a sparkling smile of eagerness that she was expected to share. It was one part of the agreement she had made with her father. She had reluctantly agreed to make peace with her sister, and to meet this paragon of good that her father had been pestering her about for a year.

She let out a long sigh of sufferance, then rose from the table.

"Where are you going?" Alfred demanded.

"Where do you think?" she snapped. "To buy a damned dress! Do you think that I thought to pack an evening gown?"

"Selene!" her mother gasped. "Apologize, at once!"

She glanced at her father noting his furious, triumphant dark eyes. "I'll make a deal with you if you'll allow me to forgo this meeting with your potential suitor. I will go visit Solange, today, at home."

His brow rose in surprise. "You would risk seeing Jean?"

"No. I said I would visit Solange. I've no interest in seeing Jean ever again. Solange is my sister; he is not important to me any longer."

His mouth twitched in contemplation, but her mother was giving him a glare that decided things for them both.

"No deal. You'll accompany Monsieur D'Aubigne to wherever he plans to take you. Be ready by eight, because he will be picking you up here at the main house, and dropping you off at the same location. This is important to your mother, and to me. Perhaps nothing will come of it. We just want you to be happy, sweetheart. I am sorry if I've angered you, but a promise is a promise." Her father pushed back from the table, poking the linen with his index finger. "I am on my way to an appointment. Do you want me to drop you off at a boutique?"

"Alfred, don't you dare," Isabelle said, reaching for Selene's hand. "I'm taking her to buy a dress, and to have her hair trimmed. It is well past time for us to have a mother-daughter day."

Selene smiled weakly. It was far easier to argue with her father than her mother, though she preferred to do neither.


	26. Chapter 25

Alfred knocked on the door of the Persian's flat an hour later, a feeling of satisfaction gripping him. Today he had a very tight itinerary to run, which involved a trip to the embassy to Erik, a few hours behind his desk at the office, and maneuvering Erik into being present while Selene was picked up by Sacha this evening. He was under no illusions about Erik and Selene's relationship. His daughter was a wounded soul, and Erik was a shattered one. He had known from the first moment he met Erik that he might have a problem. Although as he spent more time with him, he was assured that the man did not have bestial appetites, he still did not trust him. A man who had forgone a woman's touch for any length of time was unpredictable. He had not believed the nonsense about him staying true at heart and flesh to Christine, not for a moment.

The door opened, and the Perisan's servant answered, inviting him inside. Gustave was sitting on the floor, playing with an ill tempered orange tabby cat, who hissed as soon as it saw him and ran under a couch.

"Good morning," Alfred greeted him, ruffling his hair. "Is your father about?"

"He said he would be out soon. I'm sorry, Uncle Alfred, for running away and making you worry about Cousin Selene. I thought you were going to arrest him."

Surprised, Alfred sank down to look in the boy's eyes, troubled and ashamed by what he saw there. He had always liked Gustave, even though he had never been especially fond of either Raoul or Christine. It had been nice having an enthusiastic rambunctious young boy around instead of another girl, and it had not been until Gustave was a little older that the boy understood his mother was not well received. He had not truly believed Selene when she defended her efforts to be in Gustave's life, but now he understood.

"Your father and I have an understanding, Gustave. An agreement among men. Do you know what that means?"

Gustave shook his head.

"It means that no matter what happens, we can't renege on our honor. Sometimes when you are a lawman, you have to make a decision. As long as he upholds his end, I will uphold mine."

"Alfred," Erik said quietly from the doorway. "It's time for us to be going."

"Can I come?" Gustave asked.

"No."

"Yes," Erik said at the same time.

"Don't be absurd. You can't take a child into the Embassy."

"Why can't I?" he replied, buttoning Gustave's jacket. "Hasim made an appointment on my behalf. He is expecting me."

"Couvreur isn't exactly an outgoing fellow."

"Alfred, my son is coming with me," Erik said firmly. "I promised him that I would not keep secrets from him, and I meant it. Go get into the car, Gustave."

He waited until Gustave was gone, before digging the papers out of his pocket and extending them to Alfred.

"No, leave them. Bring them by the house tonight. I should be home around eight. I don't want to carry that sort of thing on my person. Is your Persian friend coming?"

"He stays," Erik said, eying him distrustfully. He put the documents into a floor safe beneath a throw, and opened the door. "Don't try anything stupid today, Alfred."

The narrow nosed secretary at the Embassy escorted them inside plush office, a large Belgian flag displayed behind the desk with a picture of some leader who Erik did not know. Other than a small plant, there was no other decoration anywhere in the room, and everything on the desk was arranged in militarist fashion. Gustave stood rigidly at his side, his eyes traveling around the room with curiosity. He did not understand why they were here, and Erik knew he feared that Alfred was not going to keep his promises. He had done his best to reassure him, but he knew the only way to keep Gustave's mind at ease was to keep him at his side.

A few moments after they sat down the door opened, and a tall, lean man with thick dark hair and pale skin entered the room, his gaze fixing on Erik immediately.

"Apologies," he said curtly, his French dialect indeed very different from the one used in Paris. "I was delayed in a meeting."

"None is needed," Alfred said. "Monsieur Couvreur, I present Monsieur Erik Younger, and his son, Gustave."

Couvreur approached Erik, studying his features openly.

"Will you remove your covering?" he asked softly.

Erik stood, his eyes narrowed. "Not without a few explanations. Why have you blackmailed the Joubert family to preserve my freedom?"

"I have my reasons," the man replied, moving behind his desk. "They are not important."

"They damned well are."

"There is no need for hostility or vulgarity." The man frowned. "I took a special interest in you, that is all. You are the man from the opera, are you not? The so called ghost?"

"Alfred tells me that you know more about me than this," Erik said, ignoring the question. "I was raised by gypsies. I assume, since you knew that we were acquainted at some point, yet I can honestly say I have never met you before. How is this possible?"

The man glared at Alfred briefly, and straightened his already neat desk. "I do not want to discuss it. Why don't you tell me why you are here?"

"I came for answers." Erik leaned across the desk. "Give them to me, or the next casualty in my destructive life, will be you."

Nonplussed, the man stared back at him, his expression unchanged. An expression that seemed vaguely familiar.

"I have met you before, haven't I?" Erik said, his gaze flickering away as his thoughts raced away. He had not thought of that night in years, except for the day he had mentioned it to Selene not two months previous. "You were at the fair."

"That was not-"

"You told me about my mother," he breathed. He reached out, grabbed the man's tie without thinking, and pulled him halfway across the desk. "You damn well will explain, and you will damn well do it now."

"Erik," Alfred said nervously, grabbing his arm. "Don't touch the Consulate."

"Stay out of this, Alfred," he said without taking his eyes off of Couvreur. "Tell me who I am. Tell me about my mother. Who are you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Couvreur said calmly.

"Who are you?" Erik shouted, shaking the man until his desk was no longer neat, and neither were his clothes. He was satisfied to finally see awareness light in the man's eyes.

Alfred grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him away, hastily apologizing to Couvreur. He stepped between the desk and Erik, shaken to find utter rage in his eyes.

"Erik calm down," he said insistantly. "You'll bring the entire security team in here."

"Her name is Gisela," Erik said hoarsely, staring at the man over Alfred's shoulder. "You said if I had been beautiful, she would have loved me and kept me. Why? _Why didn't she?_"

"Because you weren't supposed to be born," Félicien replied, breathing heavily. "He would have killed you."

"Who?" Alfred asked, completely lost.

"My father," he replied.

"Why would your father have killed him?" Alfred asked. "You are related to Erik, then?"

"I am his uncle. Gisela was my sister."

Erik stared at the man, trembling from head to toe. Of all the things that he had expected, it was not this. He had never had an identity. He had never known a single thing about his past. The earliest memory that he had was of performing before a crowd, and to the laughter and stares that he finally, as he got older, began to understand.

"Gustave," he said quietly, tearing his eyes away from Couvreur. "Come here."

His son raced to his side, pale with worry.

"Father?" Gustave whispered. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, son. Are you? I did not mean to do that. I'm so sorry." He swallowed hard, concentrating on Gustave's face for a moment, allowing his blood to cool. When he was finally able to look back at Couvreur, the desk had been straightened, and the man was staring at them all with a new wariness. "I'll ask you once more. Why are you blackmailing the Jouberts?"

"I could not find anyone else," he replied blithely.

"Why are you protecting me? And do not tell me some shit about my being family. If you had wanted to claim me, you would have done it a long time ago."

"Regret," Félicien said softly.

"For my mother discarding me?"

"She was unconscious when you were taken away, and died without ever seeing you."

Tears pricked his eyes, and he blinked them away, startled at how profoundly that statement affected him. He backed away from them, taking Gustave's hand, and turning towards the door. He was halfway to the car by the time Alfred caught up to him, though he avoided his gaze.

"I am sorry. I did not know any of that," he said quietly. "He wants to speak with you again."

"No," Erik muttered. "I don't want to know any more."

"Are you certain?"

"Look at me, Alfred," he said, stopping just past the Embassy gate. He waited until Alfred did, and then removed his mask. "All my life, the only words I have ever heard of my mother was that she did not love me because I was born this way, and now I find out that bastard lied to me. If I ever see him again, I will kill him. Though I know that would solve all of your problems, wouldn't it?"

Alfred stared at his scars for only a moment before looking away. Whatever he had expected, it had not been what he found on the right side of his face. He shut away his emotions, resolved not to pity this man for any reason.

"Don't you want answers?"

"From the mouth of a liar?"

"He is all that you have, Erik."

"No, _he_ is all that I have," he snapped, lifting Gustave's hand. "And he is all that I shall ever need."

He turned sharply, dragging Gustave along behind him, past the car and down the street. Alfred watched them disappear around a corner, and suddenly remembered his plans for Erik later. He felt a sharp, albeit brief pang of remorse before climbing in his car and driving away.

* * *

><p>Erik arrived a little earlier than time Alfred requested alone. Gustave had opted to stay with Hasim for the evening, and it was not without a little trepidation that he knocked on the enormous oak door at the quiet estate. A handsome young man dressed in dark evening clothes was standing in the entryway, loosley holding a dozen red roses. He nodded to Erik, then turned his back, but his expression could be seen in the gilded mirror above a marble top table. He kept his gaze on Erik from the corner of his eye, and his hands clenched the roses until he thought they might break his skin.<p>

Preferring to ignore him, he sat down in the hall and stretched his legs out, pretending to be greatly interested in the pattern on the stone floor. It was quite a long time before anyone arrived, and it was not Alfred but a tall elegant blond woman with the same blue eyes as her daughter's. Isabelle Joubert, he knew immediately. She started at the sight of him sitting in her foyer, and turned her attention towards the other man.

"Sacha, how lovely to see you again," she murmured warmly. "How is your family?"

"Just fine, Madame. Is Selene ready?"

"Only a few moments longer, dear. You know how young ladies are."

"Yes, Madame," he replied.

Erik tried remembering if she had ever mentioned anyone by the name Sacha, and could not place it. He noted the flowers again, and had a sudden image of a blood trail streaking the clean polished floors.

"Isabelle? Has our company arrived?"

"Yes," she called cautiously.

Alfred appeared, his gaze going between the two men. "Erik, thank you for coming," he said, surprising him with an outstretched hand. "You must meet my wife, Isabelle. And this is Sacha D'Aubigne. He is taking Selene to the Tour d'Argent tonight."

"Madame," Erik greeted quietly. "Monsieur D'Aubigne." The woman refused to meet his gaze, as did the young man. Erik turned his eyes to Alfred. "Shall we proceed to business, then?"

"Certainly." Alfred led him down the hall into a study, closing the doors. "Apologies, I did not know you would be here this early."

"Your lesson was received, Alfred, albeit unnecessary. Here is the paper," he held it out to him, drawing back just before his fingers could touch it. "If I convince Couvreur to forget about you, will you destroy this?"

"Yes," Alfred said immediately.

"You spoke to Gustave today of honor. Are you honorable, Alfred? Can I trust you?"

"Despite my loyalty, I have indeed been honorable. Just to a different government."

Erik handed the documents to Alfred. "I am tired of this game. I should not have started it, and for that I apologize. If I had any idea what I would be getting into, I never would have. I know you do not trust me with your daughter, and I do not blame you, but I would not see her come to any harm. Even with the slightest chance that Couvreur would turn you in…she has told me of her trouble, and I would not see her suffering increase. I would not see the love and respect that she holds for you diminished. Good night, Alfred."

Feeling a little ashamed of his maneuvering, Alfred only nodded. He was reaching for the documents when Erik turned his back.

Erik walked back into the hall, just in time to see Selene leaving with Monsieur D'Aubigne. She wore a flimsy white dress that fit like a glove, with her dark hair curled and gathered against her neck at one side. Her lips were painted dark red, and her blue eyes accentuated with kohl. She looked intoxicating, and those painted lips fell open when she saw him. He brushed past them both without saying a word, and intended not to do so until he heard her call his name.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when he turned to face her.

"It's none of your concern. Enjoy your evening."

"Wait! Monsieur, please, give me a moment."

"Of course," Sacha replied, staring at them both curiously. Her mother was glaring daggers at them both.

Selene towed Erik outside, fixing him with a stern look.

"What is going on? Why are you here?" she demanded.

"It is none of your concern," he snapped, pulling away from her.

"It is my concern, if it concerns me."

"It doesn't."

"Then you can tell me why you're here," Selene replied firmly. "What are you and my father discussing?"

His gaze averted, he shook his head. "I can't tell you."

"Are you in trouble?" she asked softly. "Has he done something?"

"No. It's nothing like that. Nothing to worry over." He sighed, looking at her strangely. His gaze lingered for quite a long time on her figure. "Go, enjoy your evening."

"That is not likely to happen," she muttered. "This was my father's idea."

"So you are only just acquainted with him?" he could not help but ask.

"My father has been proclaiming his virtues for nearly a year now, but yes, this is our first time to meet. It was another part of the bargain I made with him."

"And what else have you had to agree to in order to preserve my freedom?" he asked bitterly.

"Nothing else, but my father has arranged for me to move back here. Without my consent, I might add." She fidgeted nervously with her small purse. "I have not had the opportunity to see my Uncle. I will speak with him tomorrow. I am not even sure where he is living right now."

The night fell silent around them, and it became filled with that same awkward tension that plagued them both during their nights sharing a room. Only now there was no opportunity for privacy, and neither of them could have said what they wanted to if their had been. Erik finally shook himself out of his forbidden thoughts, and stepped away from her.

"I have to go," he muttered. "If you want to know anything about why I was here, you'll have to ask your father."

"I will."

Without saying another word he turned on his heel and disappeared into the dark.


	27. Chapter 26

Sacha D'Aubigne was a young bourgeoisie – a member of the same social class that many people considered her own father to be, and by extension, both of his daughters, despite the fact that he had married into a noble family. His family had made a fortune in commodoties, and with the patriarch recently deceased Sacha had taken the helm of the company and steered it to new horizons. He shared those horizons with Selene for approximately three quarters of the evening, and she listened to his incessant droning without interruption for an hour before she allowed her mind to wander.

She was wondering if Erik's friend Hasim had discovered something about her father, and if it had anything to do with the reason for Erik meeting privately with her father. For a brief, foolish moment Selene had hoped it had something to do with her, but now it was becoming obvious that each men had their own agenda. She knew what her father had on Erik, but what could her father have possibly done? It was agonizing to think that they were blackmailing each other, yet she knew in her heart that Erik would do anything to ensure his own freedom. By the time their food arrived she was so anxious that she could barely eat, and Sacha finally noticed that something was not right.

"Is your fish off?" he asked, and she realized he had asked her twice.

"What? Oh, no. I am sorry," she replied, taking another bite. "Please continue your story."

"I finished it nearly five minutes ago." He gave her a disapproving stare. "Your father did not say you were socially awkward. I do not want a wife that cannot hold a simple conversation at dinner."

She gaped at him. "I am sorry. Did you say wife?"

He nodded.

"I am not looking for a husband."

"You do not have one, do you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "Say, you are not one those suffragetes, are you?"

"No, I never needed to join a group to recognize that I am independant woman. One who does not need a man to dictate what she can and cannot do."

He scoffed beneath his breath. "Yes, I have heard all about how independent you are. Half of Paris has, it seems. But your father assured me that even if such things were true, they are in the past. I did not want some young chit seeking a rich husband, but neither will I be cuckoled by a woman."

She rose from the table, seething. "I don't think you have to worry about that, Monseiur D'Aubigne. Not even my father could force me to marry you."

"Where are you going?" He grabbed her arm as she attempted to stalk away. "Sit down before you embarrass us both."

She put her eyes level with his. "Unless you want to wear your dinner home, I suggest you take your hand off me."

He released her, looking sullen, and she left the restaurant without a clue where she was headed. She was miles from home with no car and no companion, but she would be damned before she agreed to spend another moment with that man. It was a surprise then, when Erik's car pulled up next to her two blocks away, and Mr. Squelch got out.

"Madame Joubert?"

"Mr. Squelch, what are you doing here?" She peered inside the car, but it was unoccupied.

"I was just driving by," he said, coming around the side to open the door for her.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Yes, Madame."

"He sent you, didn't he?" she asked softly.

"Yes, Madame," he said hesitantly.

"Take me to him."

He ducked his head, his gaze lowered. "Of course. Please get in."

She was expecting to be taken to Hasim's flat on the Rue de Rivoli, so it was a surprise when the car sped towards the ninth arrondissement, then turned onto the avenue where her parents lived. She said nothing to Mr. Squelch when he turned his headlights off, then pulled down the narrow lane towards the guesthouse. She briefly recalled that her father had wanted Sacha to take her back to the main house after their evening, but he would not expect her home for at least another hour.

"When shall I come back, Madame?" he asked, staring straight ahead.

She felt her face turn warm, and decided to be presumtuous. "Just before dawn."

The guest house was dark and silent as she entered. She tensed when he did not announce his presence immediately. She bent and removed her shoes, then walked silently into the salon. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but she could not see him anywhere.

"You can stop toying with me, I know you're here," she said quietly.

"Do you?" he asked, right at her ear.

Her stomach jumped as he laid his hands flat on each side of her arms, then curled his fingers around them. His breath caressed the back of her neck, and she felt her knees turn to water.

"Did you kiss him goodnight?" he whispered.

"Who? Mr. Squelch?" she asked deliberately.

"Selene, do not play games with me."

"You did not see your driver bring me here?" she asked, leaning backwards against him. Her lips grazed his jaw. "No, I did not kiss Monsieur D'Aubigne."

"I did not come here for that," he said, though his body told her otherwise.

"Then why are you here, Erik?"

"I wanted to talk." She turned around to face him, and he stepped away from her, his gaze slowly moving down her body. He finally looked away, his breathing unsteady. "I don't know how to say this. I realized after I left you that you would probably go ask your father some questions, and I was concerned."

"Because you know something awful about him?"

He nodded, once.

"Why does it concern you?"

"If you ask him for the truth, and he does not give it to you, that is one thing. If he does, it will change everything for you. I…I don't want to destroy your faith in him. I never imagined that things might be so complicated when I asked Hasim to investigate his past."

Her heart sank like a weight in her chest, and dread filled her veins. She walked slowly over to a chair and sat down, then looked up at him. The room was still dark, but neither of them made a move to turn on the lights.

"Tell me what it is."

"No."

"Erik-"

"I can't. It is not my secret to tell. If you love your father unconditionally, you will not ask him. If you love him, his past should not matter, should it?"

"Is that why you were here tonight?"

"We are calling a truce."

"That's wonderful then," she said softly, and felt a little flare of something within. "He is not going to turn you in?"

"He says no. I must do something for him first." Erik sat down across from her, sighing tiredly. "Gustave found something of mine. A letter. He knows everything about my past. About the fire. How I attempted to kill your uncle. What I did to his mother. He even knows what I did before I came to live in Paris. He knows it all."

"My father said you lived in Persia."

He inhaled sharply. "I won't discuss it."

"Alright." She smoothed her hands over her legs. "What will you discuss? You said you came to talk."

"And I have said what I came to say. I should be going."

"I instructed Mr. Squelch not to come back until dawn," she murmured.

"I see," he said, his voice sounding strange. "Did your father tell you about this morning?"

"No. What happened this morning?"

"I discovered a long lost relative."

Erik put his face in his hands, and kept them there for such a long time that she knew he was not alright. His posture was rigid, as he had been the day in the hotel room when she first awoke. She moved to the cushion beside him and put her arms around his shoulder, and turned his face towards her own.

"Who was it?" Selene whispered.

"Remember when I told you about the man at the fair?"

"Yes. You met him today?"

He nodded.

"Was it your father?" she asked softly.

"Uncle. So he claims."

"What happened?"

She listened silently as he told her about the man from the Belgian Embassy named Fèlician Couvreur. His voice was cold and distant as he spoke, but his hands trembled, and he trembled, and it was all she could do not to weep when he told her about his mother.

"You don't want to speak to him again?" she asked once he finished.

"Why should I?" he said stubbornly.

"We can get the truth from him. I know that you want it, Erik. I will come with you."

"You can't help yourself when faced with a lost cause, can you? Is that why you have dedicated so much time to me?" He turned to face her and tipped her chin back. "I would keep you busy for an eternity, you know."

"I don't consider you a charity case." She kissed him on the mouth, softly tasting him. "I consider you temptation that I cannot resist. Forgive me for being weak."

"Because I am forbidden to touch you?" he asked, his thumb tracing the edge of her jaw.

"I respect my father, but he has no say in who I spend my time with, or how I spend it with them. I do not enjoy our time together just to spite anyone, least of all him," Selene replied firmly. "I love how I feel when I am with you, and that is all that matters, isn't it? To feel desired and needed? Would it not be nice to have someone to spend your nights with, to share your dreams? Your fears? To make love with whenever you want, and never worry if it is wrong or right, because all that matters is with you…holding you…loving you. Someone that you can trust?"

His eyes closed. "Selene-"

"I want all of those things."

"So do I, but-"

She stopped him again, sweeping her mouth over his all at once. She kissed him with passion and without restraint, feeding a fire that he suddenly had no control over and no desire to tame. He forgot about respect and honor, about Alfred, and countless other things.

"I told you that it could mean nothing," he whispered, breaking away with a groan. "It never can. We should not have made love. There is no future for us."

"Do you regret it that much?" she whispered, her voice thin.

He looked apologetic, but there it was. The truth, however much she did not want to see it. She looked away as her vision grew clouded with tears, feeling the sting of them, and the sting of rejection more painfully with every second longer that she spent with him.

"Don't cry," Erik said softly. "Please don't. I am not saying that what happened wasn't beautiful, or memorable. It was _so_ beautiful, _so_ memorable, that it hurts. You've no idea how much it hurts."

"Yes I do."

Afraid to turn and face him, the first tears dropped onto her cheeks. He put his arms around her and embraced her tightly. She finally recognized the painful feeling that pierced her, and was continuing to pierce at her heart. The feeling that made it hard to breathe and hard to think, and only made her want to think of him.

"Oh," she breathed softly.

"What is it?"

She couldn't speak, she just shook her head slightly.

"Selene?"

His lips touched her hair, and she turned, lifting her face to his. He breathed harshly, his stomach twisted into knots of desire. His head lowered, but at the last moment she turned her face away, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. She melted against him as his tongue grazed her bottom lip, and it was exquisite torture, this dance of theirs.

"No," she whispered. "Do not kiss me."

"What?"

Her eyes searched his. "Do not kiss me again, unless you promise that you won't regret it."

"I-" he exhaled hard, and it came out as forceful as a sob.

Unable to bear it a moment longer, he buried his face against her neck, inhaling, pulling her close to him. He lifted her into his lap, pulling her dress up around her thighs. Her fingers twisted in his hair, and then he was straining to be inside of her, straining even though he was fully clothed. His hand found its way inside the band of her drawers and he stroked her with his middle finger, finding her wet slippery heat. Selene cried out, trembling and spent after only a few moments of his hand working a singular magic over her body. He held her close, his free cheek pressed against hers as he struggled to control himself. They had hardly been alone for twenty minutes, and he'd done something he swore to never do again with her.

"You make me forget everything," he whispered. "Who I am; where we are."

"Erik, I love you."

He grew still all at once, and even his breathing seemed to stop. She felt moisture against her neck, and knew it was not from his lips. His arms tightened around her, and he held her like that until the clock struck eleven.

"Come upstairs with me."

"Are you-"

She forced his head back, looking into his eyes. His eyes were damp, but he stared at her, unashamed of his tears. "Am I what? Sure of my feelings for you? Yes, I've never been surer of anything in my life. Or am I sure that I want to spend the night in your arms?"

"I was going to ask if you were mad," he said, but his hand lifted to caress her cheek. "You must be."

"I love you," she whispered again. "That's the last time I'll say it, I swear. I know how impossible it is. You don't have to worry that I will make demands of you. I've come to realize that I will be alone for the rest of my life, but I had to tell you. I think I am entitled, just this once, to make a questionable decision and get away with it."

"Questionable decision?"

She faltered a moment, until she could see that he was amused by her choice of words. Selene smiled in relief. "What else could it be?"

"I ache to have you again. Your Monsieur D'Aubigne was lucky to leave here with his limbs intact. I found myself thinking about you after I left. It's quite annoying, really, how often I find myself doing that."

"Annoying? Me?"

"Yes, _chère_. I should not be thinking of you naked at the most inopportune times."

"Would it help if I gave my consent?" she asked with a grin.

They kissed unhurriedly, gently, and Erik ran his hands down her back. She inhaled sharply in surprise as she felt him, rigid between her legs. He caressed her legs and her buttocks, encouraging her to move against him, and she unbuttoned the front of her gown and shrugged it from her shoulders. He stopped long enough to remove her clothing in strategic places, then his own, then they were joined again. He loved her slowly, their lips never more than an inch or two apart, and their eyes locked together except for those moments when pleasure caused them to close. He loved her slowly, because he wanted to feel her heart beating with his own, and because wanted to show her, even if he couldn't tell her yet, that his heart belonged to her. He tried in vain to keep from coming inside of her, but their position on the sofa prevented him from pulling away at the needed moment. He groaned deeply, buried inside her warmth, and she reached her own climax. She whispered again that she loved him, and neither of them spoke of regrets or mistakes again. He felt tears on her face afterward and he kissed her cheeks and her lips until they were gone.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," he whispered. "What we have shared is not merely sex. But-"

"But you do not trust anyone enough to love them."

"That implies I'm incapable of love. It isn't true. I'm _afraid_ of it. Love has always been a disappointment for me. Have you any idea how much it hurts? Enough to make me contemplate a life for Gustave without me in it. Not because I think he would reject me…I am used to dealing with that. I could not bear living without love. Without _her."_

"And do you think that I have had an easy time of it? Is there no hope for you to find happiness without Christine?" She met his gaze. "Even with me?"

"If we were different people, yes." He brushed the hair away from her face. "Even without all of the obstacles in our path, what sort of life would you have with me? What sort of husband do you think I would be? Do you picture a husband who is overtly dramatic in his affections? A dog to lie at your feet, begging for yours? One who takes you walking on the street in the middle of the day, and stops in a café to have coffee with you? Who shares every thought that goes through his head, and expects you to do the same? I would not be that sort of husband."

"I want the same man that you are today. The one you were yesterday. I have a dog. I don't drink coffee, and if you shared every thought with me that goes through your head, I would probably have to ask Mr. Squelch to pummel you for me."

"Mr. Squelch only takes orders from me."

"Yes, but he likes me better," she replied, chuckling. "I don't want to talk about the future. We will take it a day at a time, Erik. All I ask is that if you truly do not want this, whatever _this_ is, try not to break my heart any harder than necessary when it ends."

"I will be as gentle with it as I can," he said, his expression solemn. "If I had a choice in the matter, Selene…but I don't. I can't allow myself to dream about something I can't have. There is someone more important whom we have forgotten in this mad lust, and I would die before I hurt him in any way. Especially after what I found out today."

"I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

"You don't need to be forgiven. God, but you don't, not after what you've given me. Tomorrow we will start behaving like responsible adults. Tonight, I want to hold you."

He adjusted his clothes, lifted her up and carried her upstairs, following her directions. The only light in the room came from a small lamp next to her bed, and they lay for hours talking, kissing, and pretending for a little while that the world had stopped just for them.

They both jerked awake in the middle of the night when someone pounded on her bedroom door, which she had thankfully remembered to lock.

"Selene?" It was her father. "Selene, are you in there?"

Her heart seized for a moment, and she stared at Erik in pure panic. They were tangled in the sheets, completely naked, and she was surprised to see Erik had removed his mask. His eyes grew wary once he realized she could see him, but he glanced at the door meaningfully, and she lost the opportunity to say anything to him. "Yes, I'm…I'm sleeping. What's wrong?"

"Monsieur D'Aubigne was to bring you home," he said, his voice less anxious. "I could not reach him, and I never saw his vehicle tonight."

"We had a disagreement at the restaurant. I hired a car to bring me home. I'm sorry," she said. "I was upset. I did not mean to make you worry."

"What happened?"

"Can we talk about this in the morning? I'm very tired, Papa."

He sighed. "I'm sorry to wake you. I will lock the front door when I leave. You need to be more careful about your doors. This is not Avignon."

His footsteps faded away, and Erik grabbed her wrist, pulling her close.

"You were supposed to check in with him?" he whispered.

"It slipped my mind."

His eyes narrowed. "Slipped your mind?"

"Are you accusing me of something, Erik?" she asked softly.

He stared at her a moment, then shook his head. He paused in his movements when her hand rose up to his right cheek. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"If I wanted to end what we have, I would simply tell him. The last thing I want in the world is to disappoint him again. Even if I didn't think he would go completely insane, I would never want to be caught in a compromising situation with any man, least of all you. He'd try to kill us both."

"Would he ever hurt you?"

She glanced away. "He backhanded me once, when he first heard about Jules. He apologized for it, but it was a long time before I forgave him. He has a bit of a temper at times."

Erik lay down with a soft chuckle. "Yes, I'm well aware."

"And what of _your_ father? Did Monsieur Couvreur not tell you anything about him?"

"No. He only said that my mother was dead," he murmured. "He did not mention my father."

Selene lay her head on his chest, drawing circles on his stomach with the tip of one finger. "I know you must be curious. I meant what I said earlier. I would go with you to speak to him."

"I'm not certain I want to know anymore. What if it's as terrible as I imagined? What if they…what if they left me…? Those wounds have never healed. Its best if they remain untouched."

"You could have a brother. Or a sister," Selene said, peering up at him. "Don't you at least want to know, even if you do not meet them?"

He took a ragged breath, and kissed the top of her forehead. He didn't know what he wanted, any more than he knew what to do about her. She was quite possibly the other half to a soul he had not even known he had, and related to a man he had tried to kill. She would never choose him over her own parents, perhaps not even for Gustave's sake.

"Your presence calms me, but I do not know if it is enough. I wanted to kill him," he whispered. "I have hated him since that night at the fair. I hated him for what he said to me, and I hate him more now because it wasn't true. Or perhaps it was true. Perhaps she would have done the same thing and given me away."

She propped up on her elbow to look down at him, at the scars on his face that he had never willingly revealed to her. Her eyes narrowed, and she fixed him with a certain glare that he was well accustomed to.

"Would Christine have given up Gustave if he had inherited your scars?" she asked bluntly.

"No," he said, his face turning warm. "Of course not."

"Would you?"

"No!"

"I don't know anyone who, at their very heart, could be that cruel. Except for my sister, perhaps. Not even my own parents would reject an innocent child because they were born differently."

"I did not end up at a gypsy camp by accident, Selene," he said bitterly, turning his face towards the wall.

"Then you must find out how, Erik. Or you will never be able to find peace with your past."

"And what if it destroys me?" he asked.

"I won't let it. No matter what happens, you still have Gustave, and your Persian friend Hasim. You still have me. We can always be friends, even if we can't be more."

At the uncertainty in her tone he turned his head. "I can never express how grateful I am for everything you've done for me. I do not mean physically, Selene. I've been blundering along for the past year with Gustave, like a blind man, and within no time you worked miracles with him. I thought that he had turned as hollow as I was. You proved me wrong on many counts. I've never met anyone like you."

"Bossy and opinionated?"

"Passionate and caring." He put his arms around her waist and drew her close. "Prideful and contradictory. Beautiful and bountiful."

She frowned. "Bountiful?"

He cupped her breast, his mouth crooked into a smile. "Ah, yes. Bountiful."

"But not fat?"

"God woman. Add infuriating to the list." He rolled her on top of him, stroking the long strands of hair that tickled his chest. She sighed and closed her eyes. "If I were not so thoroughly exhausted, I would show you how beautiful I think you are."

"And if I were not so tired, I would let you," she murmured. "We will go see your uncle together. I won't take no for an answer. I will come by your Persian friend's tomorrow afternoon."

"What will you tell your father?"

"Nothing. I am not seventeen."

"You do know at some point, we must talk about this, Selene."

When she did not answer he shifted her back to the bed and found her asleep, or at least pretending to sleep.


	28. Chapter 27

To say that Gustave was delighted to finally see her was an understatement. When she arrived the next morning, just late from a long lecture from her father, he hurled himself in her arms and clung tightly for a long time without saying a word. She closed her eyes and felt a pang of regret go straight through her heart. Holding him made her realize how foolish her passing dream of a life with Erik really was. This boy, who meant so much to her and everything to his father, did not deserve to have his future gambled away so recklessly. She met Erik's eyes and imagined the same thing in his own, and knew that her time with him had grown even shorter.

"I missed you," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "You rascal, do not ever put me through such a fright again!"

"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, breaking away from her with a slight flush. "I missed you too."

"I do love you, Gustave. I wish that you had come to me. I wish you had felt that it was alright to."

He glanced up at his father, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. "You would have taken me away."

"No. I promise I'll never do that." She held her hand out to Erik, and he took it cautiously, causing Gustave's eyes to widen. "Your father and I are friends now. I was afraid for you at first, because I was afraid of him. I'm not anymore."

He cast a doubtful look at Erik, who put his arm around Selene and nodded. "Selene speaks the truth, Gustave. We will not always agree on everything, but we have made peace with each other. In fact, she is going to go with me today to speak to Monsieur Couvreur."

Gustave's head bowed, but he rolled his eyes up to meet those of his father's. "Are you going to yell at him again?"

"Maybe."

"Erik," Selene scolded. "No, he is not going to yell at him."

"Can I come?"

With slight hesitation, Erik nodded. "If you want to come you can, Gustave."

His mouth screwed up to the right, and he shook his head. "Hasim promised to take me somewhere today."

"Oh?" Erik asked.

"It's a secret."

"Well I don't like the sound of that," he said dryly.

"You never like anything," Hasim said, coming out of the kitchen. "Erik, you have not properly introduced me to your friend."

Realizing his arm was still around Selene, he released her.

"Hasim, this is Madame Selene Joubert. Selene, this is Hasim, the Daroga of Mazanderan."

"A pleasure to meet you," Selene said, giving him her most charming smile. "Erik has been remarkably closed mouthed about you. I'm afraid I am not certain what a daroga is. Are you royal?"

"Goodness yes, but not a prince, I assure you," Hasim chortled. "But you do not have to tell me, Madame, how hard it is to get information from Erik."

"Royal my ass," Erik muttered. "A step above a camel turd, more like."

"Erik!" Selene elbowed him, hard. "That is vulgar, and very impolite."

"I take no offense, Madame," Hasim assured her. "I have taken far more verbal abuse from him. I delight with each new and inventive insult he hurls at me."

"As much as I would love to think of new ones just now, Selene and I have an unscheduled visit to the Embassy to make." He bent down and straightened Gustave's collar, simply because he could. "Be good for Hasim today."

"Yes, Father," Gustave replied solemnly.

"I trust that Hasim is not taking you somewhere you shouldn't be," he said, fixing the daroga with a stern look.

Gustave glanced at Hasim, then back at his father. "Don't worry. It's not dangerous."

"Very well." He turned to Selene. "Shall we?"

The clerk at the front admitted them into Couvreur's office, where the man himself was waiting a safe distance behind his desk. He was not alone this time, as two heavily muscled men in suits stood on either side of him, and he showed no indication of dismissing them.

"I did not expect to see you again," Félicien said, gesturing to the chairs in front of them. "And you brought a friend. How nice."

"I want answers," Erik said, his voice controlled. They both ignored the invitation to sit. "I want the truth."

"And why should I give it to you? Yesterday you made it clear you were not interested."

"He deserves the truth," Selene said, her voice rising. "Who are you? More importantly, who is he?"

Félicien looked at Erik, who was staring with an unseeing gaze at the floor. He removed his coat and handed it to his attendant then approached Erik, waiting until he met his gaze.

"Would you like to know what happened?" he asked quietly. "It is not a happy story."

"You know where I am from? You know the names of my parents and where I was born? The day? The year?"

"You are Erik Couvreur. Or you are Erik Drugge. Your parents were never married, so I do not know which name you would take. The Couvreur name is cursed. I would not recommend choosing that one."

For a long time Erik simply stood there, not saying anything. Not looking at anyone. Selene took his hand and noted it trembled. He was in shock. He had barely said a word since they arrived, and it seemed as if he had forgotten everything he ever wanted to ask. She squeezed his hand.

"What was his mother's name?" she asked Fèlicien. "His father's?"

Erik met her gaze briefly, then glanced back to the floor.

"My sister, Gisela Couvreur, gave birth to you many years ago. You have a birth certificate, but I do not know its location. The midwife pronounced you a stillborn, but you were breathing when she handed you to me. My father was not a gentle man to my unmarried and pregnant sister. He beat her every time that he caught sight of her and eventually locked her in her room for the duration of the event, which was never to be mentioned in our house, and was a dishonor to our family."

Though his voice was gentle, his words were not. Erik inhaled sharply, anger finally snapping him out of his daze.

"I'm well aware that I was unfortunate enough to be born into your family. Born into a family that would abandon an infant child in an alleyway to be raised by rats."

"Ah, then that is what they told you?" the older man asked. "Gypsies. Everything must be dramatic with them. You were not left in an alleyway. You were left with an old woman who assured me that she would take care of you."

"Magda," Erik spat. "Certainly she did, Monsieur. But then, you know where I ended up, don't you?"

Félicien's gaze dropped. "I have said that I was sorry."

"Sorry?" Erik snarled.

"What about his father?" Selene prodded gently.

"Your father's name was Matthieu Drugge," Félician said quietly. "He yet lives. Your mother has been gone for a very long time. Abbé Drugge came to the house the night you were born. He wanted to take you with him….but I was a foolish boy. I wanted to punish them both. I hated him at the time for what he had made my father do to Gisela. I loved my sister. She was ever gentle and kind with me. So fragile…I knew that she would not want her son to suffer as she did, even if she could never bear to let you go. I did not think it would be fair that Matthieu could go on living his life while she was beat and tortured. I didn't understand what I was doing, and by the time that I did, it was too late. You were gone."

"_Abbé_ Drugge?" Selene repeated. "Erik's father is a priest?"

"Was a priest. He gave up his vocation a long time ago."

"What did you do?" she whispered.

"He sold me to the gypsies," Erik blithely.

"Not sold, but yes, I admit that I am the one who took you to their camp. I….I have longed for your forgiveness all these years. Your mother denied it to me, even on her deathbed, and your father denies me as well." Félicien's chin rested against his chest, his eyes closed. "I did not think you would survive that house, Erik. Sometimes I do not know how I survived there. You must understand what my father was like…."

"How old were you when this happened?" Selene asked softly.

"Thirteen."

"You were but a child," she said quietly.

She glanced at Erik, only to find his expression set in stone. He was not moved by sympathy towards this man.

"Where is Erik's father now?"

"He lives in poverty within the Ardenne forest outside of Namur, near where I grew up. I have offered to assist him numerous times, and he has refused. With your permission I would like to arrange a meeting. Perhaps my old mentor can forgive me, if I am able to give him back what I so foolishly gave away. I can tell by your expression that you care not for my efforts to keep you safe since I became aware of your connection with the opera ghost." Félician expression sharpened. "If you only knew how many legs were broken to discover something that could fell the mighty Vicomte's family. Now, of course, it is not so difficult. The Vicomte himself corrupt, the daughter to the patriarch involved in a sex scandal, the other daughter doing her best to outdo the other in her escapades-"

"That is enough," Erik said sharply, rising to his feet. "Leave Selene out of this. And if I ever hear of you breathing a word about her I will break your leg. Both of them."

The older man shrugged. "I care nothing about the Jouberts. Alfred was merely great insurance to keep you free. I am sorry, Erik, for the path that I forced you on. Reuniting you with your father….that has been my atonement. I would have preferred to tell Matthieu where you were instead of this meeting, but he refuses to open my letters, and I am too cowardly to go to him."

"What happened to my mother?"

Félician's gaze flickered away. "She was very emotional when she awoke a few hours after your birth. She refused to believe what my father told her about your features. She finally believed me, but said it did not matter. She needed someone to love in that house, and all of that love would have been yours if my father had not been alive. He was mad, Erik. I cannot express to you how truly mad he was. That is why I took you away. Gisela became despondent in the following months. Nothing could lift her lips. No one could pry a word from her. I was afraid to leave the house because the abbé was still demanding answers from me. My father was able to keep him from the property, but one night, he found his way through. He found his way to her and told her the truth about what I had done. They begged me to tell them where I had taken you but before I could my father burst into the room. Our servants beat the abbé and threw him out, and then Father locked us all out of Gisela's room. She was mostly dead when I finally managed to get inside. He had strangled her. There was only a little life left in her, and soon it was gone."

"If you were so intent on reuniting me with my father, why did you not take me the night of the fair?"

"I don't know. Perhaps I thought it was too late."

"It was not too late!" he shouted suddenly, his voice cracking. "Before that night I had never spilled a man's blood. I had never tortured a human being, and never done unspeakable things in that God forsaken desert."

"You would have never met Christine Daae," Couvreur pointed out.

"And I would not have lost her either!" Erik replied bitterly. "Now that I see who has shaped my life, I want no more of it. Forget about the Jouberts. If this is your atonement consider it well atoned. I will meet with my father, but it will not be arranged by you. Perhaps he will forgive you now, but there is no forgiveness in me for you. Don't ever reveal Alfred's secrets, or you will find yourself as lost as I was all those years ago, with no hope of ever coming back."

"There must be something you want. This woman? You love her? I can arrange for the union to be blessed by her father. Your son's future? He can take the Couvreur name, and he will be Wallonia's precious son. An exalted royal family. Name something, Erik. Anything."

"I want nothing from you," he snapped.

"Actually, there is something," Selene said, going to stand before his uncle. "The woman that Erik was to marry has been trying desperately to adopt a young girl. The orphanage refuses because she is unmarried. Can you assist?"

"And Erik's forgiveness?"

"You cannot buy it," she replied gently. "He is a stubborn man. You have given him his father. Give him this, and let him move on with his life. We all have parts of our life we would rather not remember. For some of us, those parts take up more of it than we would like, but there is always hope for a better tomorrow. You were very young when you gave Erik away. Barely twenty the night of the fair…"

"My father had just died, and I had come into my inheritance. I was full of self importance, and when I found the camp he was still living in I was deeply ashamed of myself…it was the next time that I saw the Abbé that I realized how deeply he hated me. I had avoided him for so long, and buried my emotions, buried what I had done inside…I asked him for forgiveness and he spat at my feet. I eventually realized that the only way to ease this damned conscience was to keep Erik safe, but by the time I wound up the courage to go back, he was gone. It was during the first time that Christine Daae disappeared that the rumors of a masked man flew around, and I knew it must be he. Who else? But once again, he slipped through my fingers."

"Don't take his side, Selene. He's more heartless than I ever was. I don't know why he bothered harassing your father all these years, because he could have ended my misery long ago. I did not come to hear his pitiful story, and I am not interested in his reasons for what he did, or how tormented he's become. Just tell me about my father, and we'll be on our way."

"I have not seen Matthieu in a long time. What do you want to know?"

"Why did he forsake his vows for my mother?"

"Gisela was very beautiful," Félician said quietly. "Very. There was something about her and my mother both that drove my father insane. My mother ran away with her lover when we were young, and he took all of his rage out on Gisela. He kept her inside the house at all times. He did not permit her to have friends or contact with the outside world. His only exception was to send her to Mass. She never missed one, from the time she was old enough to understand what a rosary was for. Matthieu was young, just returned from a missionary expedition in Asia. Gisela considered him quite worldly. I don't know what transpired between them. All I know is that she was very unhappy, and the older she got, it became worse. He would not permit even the most respectable gentlemen to call on her. They began to have terrible fights, and she spent more and more time at the church. I suppose my father thought she was considering taking holy vows and joining an order. It might have pleased him if she had been, but it was soon obvious that there was more going on than prayers."

"My father did not wish to marry?" Erik asked.

"If he did not, he never said. Once it was known she carried a child he tried time and again to convince my father to let them marry. I don't know if he loved her or not, but he used to go to her gravesite and bring her white roses. Sometimes I still find them there. Eventually his church excommunicated him. He never returned to them; never asked their forgiveness. He only wanted to make Gisela happy, but my father would not permit him on the property."

Erik glanced at the crest behind Félician, and developed a sinking sensation in his stomach. "You mentioned the Couvreur name. Why is it important in your country? Who was your father?"

"His name was Count Milou Couvreur."

"No," Erik breathed. "You're lying again."

Félician raised his hand, glanced down at it, and twisted off a thick ring with a large red ruby on top. He held it out to Erik, allowing him to inspect the figure of a lion in a fighting position surrounded by roses and crowns.

"It is true. Ironic, is it not? Your opera singer chose a man who, technically speaking, would have been below your bloodline. Though you cannot inherit of course. You are still illegitmate in the eyes of the law."

"I do not want it. I hope that much is understood." He threw the ring back at Couvreur, who caught it deftly with one hand. "Do you have anything else on Alfred Joubert?"

"You mean Aleksandr Pavlona?" Félician shrugged. "I can have the affidavit redrafted at any time. I know where to find the man. But the birth certificate that I gave your friend, that was the original. If he's lost it, then there is nothing really to tie Joubert to Pavlona."

Erik approached Couvreur slowly, glancing warily at his two bodyguards. He was conscious of Selene behind him, and what she must have heard, but he did not think she would search for the truth about her father now. As curious as she might be, she was also terrified of what she might find.

"Forget both of those names, Couvreur," Erik whispered, looking straight into the man's eyes. He was not Erik anymore, or the Phantom, but that disease that had born in Persia and who sometimes emerged inadvertently. The Phantom himself had been infected with it; the blood, the hatred, the greed. He had been a young man violently bitter and confused. He had exacted his revenge on mankind at a terrible price, and it was the man standing before him now who he blamed. Couvreur's eyes darted away, but Erik followed them with his own, angling his head and forcing him to return the look. He was transfixed as a cobra with it's hypnotist. "Forget about Selene, especially." He lowered his voice further, speaking at the man's ears. "She is mine."

##

* * *

><p>"I need to go somewhere quiet so I can think," Erik said, closing his eyes once they were in the car.<p>

"Of course." She put the car into gear. "Where to?"

His head was swimming in the past and present. He was thinking of that damned crest, and how he had seen it before. It had been burned in his brain for a long time, but he hadn't known what it meant or why it had been given to him. He still had it, but it was buried in a place in the past, as far as he knew.

"My apartment," he whispered. "Take me there."

"You have an apartment?"

"Place des Vosges."

She raised a brow, but said nothing, and they arrived at their destination with Erik coming out of his daze only long enough to curse when she almost hit another car.

"You're just awful," he said, taking the keys from her. "I don't think you should drive anymore."

He took her hand and led her into the arcade then up to the second floor, and when he finally managed to open the door, Selene immediately sneezed.

"Sorry, no one's been in here for a long time," he muttered.

"Do you want me to go? Would you rather be alone right now?"

He glanced at her, shaking his head slightly. "Please stay."

Her heart constricted and she followed him into a place that seemed to have been stopped in time. Dusty white sheets covered the furniture, and where the sun was shining through the windows it looked like a storm of dirt swirled through the air. The walls were dark green and walnut paneled, and bookcases filled to overflowing were in near excess. It wasn't a very elegant home, nothing like his estate in Avignon, yet it seemed to fit him more.

"I thought you lived in the opera cellars," she said, pulling back one of the curtains and sneezing again.

"It is not very comfortable down there. Always cold, always wet. There were a few years when the Populaire was unable to afford concurrent productions. I bought this place during one of those times. It was a refuge," he said, shuddering slightly, thinking that it was the place where Gustave had been conceived, just down the hall in his bedroom. Why had he brought her here?

"It's very lovely. Very you."

"I am lovely?"

She smiled at him and stepped closer, putting her arms around him and her head on his chest. "I think you are."

He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes at the feeling that overcame him then. He felt raw inside, his heart was cracked right down the middle, and holding her felt so perfect. Yet he knew, as he had known this morning, that he had to end things with her. The alternative did not even bear consideration. The alternative would not make her happy, and it would make her hate him.

"Kiss me," he murmured.

She raised her head immediately and complied, their tongues touching briefly, their lips teasing softly. He stopped just before things grew intense, and set her away from him.

"I want to show you something," he said.

Her eyebrow raised. "Have I seen it before?"

Erik felt his face grow warm. She was teasing him, but he was not used to that sort of humor. "No."

She followed him down a dark hallway into a long narrow room that, when she realized what she was looking at, she simply stopped and stared.

"This is extraordinary," she whispered, gazing at the perfect line of masks that adorned the walls both up and down. They covered the walls at evenly spaced intervals of perhaps three feet, all the way from the ceiling to the chair rail. "Where ever did you find all of these?"

"Some I have had for years. Some were given...the daroga is especially fond of giving me ones that are unique. Madame Giry gave me this one," he said, pointing to a black lacquered leather mask. "Most of them I acquired from a mascherari in Venice. He does extraordinary work, and he is a collector himself."

"What about this one? Can I touch them?"

"Of course."

She lifted a gold one from the wall with bright red feathers spouting off on one side. She tried to fit it to her face, but it titled precariously for a moment. Everything was covered in dust, and she sneezed again.

"Some of them are more comfortable than others," he said apologetically, helping her clean it then secure it on her face. "I would probably never wear this one."

"At least not in public," she teased softly.

He glanced down at her, surprise flickering over his expression for a moment. He smiled slowly. "Probably not," he agreed, stepping away from her. "Would you like to have one?"

She blinked. "One of your masks?"

He gestured towards the room. "I have plenty, as you can see. I never wore these. They are just for show. And since I have never showed anyone this room, they were just for me. Choose one. Any of them."

She removed the one she was wearing, replacing it gently on the wall, then walked around the room, studying each one with great care. He had so many...possibly a hundred or more, and they were all so different and beautiful, and so unlike anything she'd ever seen before. And he had never shown them to anyone. Not even Christine. She finally stopped before the face of a Greek theatrical mask, gray and darker gray in color, with the classic, pronounced features of a hero.

"Tell me about this one."

"I have had this one for a long time," he said softly. "I purloined it from the archives at an opera house in Rome when I was only sixteen."

"Purloined?" She took the mask from the wall. "Isn't that another word for stole?"

"It's classier," he replied with a laugh. "You like this one?"

She held it towards him. "May I see it on you?"

His eyes widened slightly, and he glanced away, an expression of panic washing over him.

"Erik," Selene said gently. "I have seen you not wearing one. I have seen you wearing much less than your pants. Please?"

He took it from her, and she turned away so that he could change without her eyes on him. When he touched her shoulder she found herself very close to him, and the lines of the mask somehow changed with his face, making it seem harsher and angrier. It only covered him down to his lips, and she could see the faint red crackle of his skin on his right cheek.

Not thinking, she reached up to touch him, running her palm over the rough skin. He exhaled hard, bringing his hand up to grip her wrist. He closed his eyes, then brought her even closer, burying his face in the softness of her hair.

"What are you thinking, Selene?" he whispered.

"The same thing that you are," she replied.

He tilted her face up towards his. "You know what I'm thinking right now?"

"Not precisely," she ventured, her voice warm. "I have an imagination though, and your body tells me what you won't."

"I'm thinking that everything about this is wrong."

"And yet you want me, don't you?"

He held her tighter, his eyes darkening. "What do you think?"

"I think you're right. We should stop before we both do something foolish."

"I haven't been able to stop thinking of you since the stable. Before that. You have visited my dreams...my fantasies..."

"Fantasies? What, do you fantasize about me, Erik?"

He brought his face very close to hers, trembling from the need that coursed through him. He threaded his hands in her hair, pulling her head back as if he intended to kiss her, but he only brought her body closer, letting her feel more fully the evidence of his desire. "All of the time," he said passionately. "What I can't seem to do is stop."

"What do you fantasize about?"

"Possessing you. I wanted you in the barn, and on our morning walks, and a hundred other times, I've wanted to touch you and taste you...but that would never be enough for me, Selene. I would never be satisfied until I had possessed every inch of you inside and outside, and that is why we should not be here alone right now. I have no self control. You make me want to forget everything, and that is very dangerous for me, Selene. Very dangerous, indeed."

"I feel the same way," she whispered, lowering her gaze. "I'm afraid of what I feel."

"I'm terrified."

He pulled her towards him slightly, his hand placing gentle pressure on the back of her neck. He set her head against his shoulder, moving the rest of his body away from her. For several moments he just held her, breathing quietly and evenly in a controlled, purposeful way that eventually calmed the storm within them both.

"We cannot be lovers, Selene. For so many reasons that I can think of, it is impossible."

"I can think of the ones that you can't," she murmured

"I still love her," he said very quietly.

"I know that you do."

"You're angry-"

"No," she denied immediately. "I'm not angry. I'm….I'm very envious of Christine. Having someone love you so much….that's every girl's dream."

"No one should envy her," he said with a shudder. "You've no idea the things I've done in the name of love. I manipulated for it. I killed for it. Most everything in the paper is true, Selene. I was a madman. Perhaps I still am. The house….the servants….everything about my life is another mask, designed to make me appear respectable and decent. I've never been either of those things. I behave for the sake of my son. I couldn't stand for him to see me as a monster. That is why we must talk. I feel as if I'm losing this precious grip on sanity that I've maintained for so long. I don't want that. I can't…"

"Shhh." She put her finger at his lips, feeling her throat tighten. "You don't have to say anything. I know. I've always known. I just hoped it would not be so soon."

"I'm sorry. I do want you. I _do_ love you."

"Erik..."

"I love you, and I must not let anything destroy it."

He strode away from her and went to a tall corner bureau, and dug around for a moment. He came back with a yellow and red scrap of cloth and held it up for her to see. "I've never had a past until now. I never had a legacy until Gustave."

Her eyes grew damp. "You don't have to say anything else."

"I need to. I only know one way to have you in my life. The same way that I forced Christine into it. I can destroy your family. What I know about your father would send him to prison…probably to some tropical island where he would catch malarial fever, or he could face a firing squad. And if I were the same callous bastard that this," he held up the cloth, "made me into, I would do it without thinking. Without asking. Even with Gustave in my life, I would do it. Because I love you, and not so very far beneath the surface I am still selfish enough that love means more to me than anything else. But its not the sort of love you want in your life. Please believe me, Selene. I know you want a choice on staying in our lives or not. This is the choice."

"But I thought you gave the papers to my father," she whispered. "Didn't you?"

He simply looked at her.

"You lied to me? You still have them?"

"The originals are in a safe place," he said quietly.

She backed away from him, her expression filled with hurt. "You intend to turn them over?"

"No, not if he keeps his word. Even then…I don't _want_ to do it, Selene. I don't want to hurt you. But I have to protect myself. I was tired of the game we played. I thought perhaps if he saw that I was going back to Avignon and you were staying in Paris, he might back off. If I ever need to remind him of our agreement, they are there. But after last night…when you said that you loved me…" He turned away, his hands clenched tightly. "When you said that you loved me I knew that no matter what information I have on him, if I took a chance it wouldn't matter. He'd give up his life for you. He would never trust me. We'd spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulder, even if we disappeared together. I've done it before, and I could do it again, but that's not the sort of life I want for Gustave.

"This is my choice? You and Gustave, with my father in prison, or nothing?"

"Life is not fair, __chère. __I could have let this go on for another week; another month. We could have met in secret for the rest of our days and never been discovered. But at the rate we are going, I would say not. Tell me it's not better this way," he said, drawing her close to him again. "Or tell me that nothing else matters except for this."

And then he kissed her hard, passionately, holding back nothing. The hero's mask slipped away, and there was only Erik. She cupped his ravaged face and returned his kiss, letting the warmth flood through her and enjoying the familiar flush of desire. He was burning, engorged, and filled with a desperate love that had to be unanswered, or it would drive him mad. He knew what she had chosen long before he set her away from him. He held her tightly, stroking her hair, listening to her soft sobs, and hating Alfred and Raoul with new vigor.

"If you become enceinte, you will let me know," he said very quietly. "I'll do almost anything you ask of me, Selene. If we have to drop off the face of the world…me…you, and Gustave. I know you'll still want to see him, and he you. I'll make myself scarce if it's easier."

"No." She pulled away from him and smoothed out her dress, shaking her head, snuffling, and feeling foolish. "No, it wouldn't be easier. I'd like to remain friends if it is possible. I understand if it's not."

He lifted her chin with one finger, his green eyes dark as a midnight forest. "We will make it possible for now, sweet Selene. I don't understand how you can feel this way for me. But I accept it. I make no excuses for it."

He picked up the forgotten mask from the floor and handed it her, his heart tightening at the way she crushed it to her chest as if it were a great treasure. He replaced his own white mask and tucked the scrap of cloth with the crest back into the drawer. He never wanted to look at it again, yet the prospect of a father who had wanted to take him away had been eating away at the sturdy wall he had erected so long ago. Longing surged through his breast; a longing to have a past that was real and not darkened by the blood of innocent people. Perhaps, just this one, luck might be on his side.

"I want to meet him."

She looked up at him in surprise. "Your father?"

He nodded, finding himself troubled to breathe. "I think that I shall take Gustave with me and go to Wallonia for a visit. As odd as it sounds, I find the prospect less terrifying than allowing Gustave to see Raoul, or answering more questions about Christine. Would you….would you go with him to see her grave? I…I fear that I am not ready for that just yet."

"Of course I will."

He held out his hand, and they left the dark dusty house together, separating when they emerged in the light of the courtyard. Selene wondered how the sun could possibly shine as the darkest grief threatened to break her heart. By the time she awoke the next morning, quite alone, they were both gone.


	29. Chapter 28

The cottage looked nearly as ancient as the forest surrounding it, tucked against a sheer cliff wall covered entirely in moss and vines. It resembled something you might find in a fairy tale, and Erik laughed aloud at the absurd picture that greeted him. He took Gustave's hand and led him to the door of the cottage, feeling as nervous as he had ever felt in his entire life. As he started to knock, Gustave tugged his arm.

"What is it son?" he asked, trying to quell the panic that was beginning to set in.

He lifted his arm and Erik turned to see what he was pointing at. A small garden beside the house flourished in one of the few sunny spots in what seemed for miles around, and inside the wood picket fencing, an old white haired man stood shading his eyes as he stared at them.

"Abbe Drugge?" Erik called out.

"That was my name. A long time ago," came a quiet reply. The old man turned his back and began harvesting tomatoes again. "I go by Mattieu now, though most people in the village refer to me as 'that crazy old man'. What is it you want? I haven't any extra produce today."

"I….I came to visit with you," he said, cautiously approaching the fence. "This is my son, Gustave."

"Hmph."

The man did not turn around, just continued plucking his tomatoes, and for a while Erik simply watched his movements. His hair was long and untamed, his clothing made of coarse black wool and hardly a spot on it was in good condition. But the garden and premises were in excellent care, and he had his doubts that what Félician had referred to as poverty was actually the case.

He didn't know how to begin, or what his first words should be, and for a moment he considered simply gathering Gustave and leaving. He had seen his father…mostly from behind, but it was closer than he had ever been. Then his son did something completely unexpected and left his side, entering the garden with the old man.

"Don't step on any plants!" the old man ordered sternly.

When Gustave examined a fruit and plucked it, Mattheiu gave a slight grunt, but held out the small basket for him to place it in. They worked diligently for several moments, then Matthieu turned to face Gustave, barely glancing in his direction.

"Who are you, boy?"

"I'm your grandson," Gustave stated plainly. "That man over there is my father, and we came a long way to meet you."

"Grandson?" Mattheiu barked, turning around to face Erik for the first time. His wrinkled expression became slack after a moment, and the basket fell out of his hands. Erik approached the garden fence and, after a long moment, he reached up and removed his mask.

"Félician told me where I could find you," he stated quietly.

"Félician! That miscreant!" Matthieu attempted a scowl, but his eyes had grown moist and he could not manage it. "You're my boy."

"Yes."

Finally able to drag his gaze away, he looked back at Gustave, and then he looked away from them both for a long time.

"We can go, if you need –"

"No. No," he replied hoarsely. "Please, stay awhile. Stay forever."

"You do not mind us coming? I did not want Félician here when I met you. He told me everything."

"Ha! He told you from a child's prospective. The boy was a saint compared to his sister, in his father's eyes at least. Hardly ever laid a hand on him." Matthieu shuffled forward, his tomatoes forgotten, until he was through the gate and standing in front of his son, arms outstretched.

Oddly enough, his guard lowered immediately, and he allowed himself to be hugged by the frail older man and felt damn near to weeping by the time he was released. He set his hands on Matthieu's shoulders and they looked into each other's eyes and at each other's faces for uncounted moments.

Matthieu tried speaking, but his words voice failed and he eventually shook his head and threw himself back into embracing his son.

"I am a foolish old man. Forgive me," he whispered.

He doubted he would ever need forgive this man for anything. It felt, for a moment, as if everything in his world was perfect. The past no longer mattered. He felt healed within, at a very deep part of his soul that had been locked away for decades, surrounded by bitter black thorns.

Regretfully they parted, each of them smiling as Gustave approached with the basket of tomatoes. The old man leaned down and placed a hand on his head, his smile wider than the Seine.

"Got your father's eyes, do you? And your grandfather's. What's your name again, boy?"

"Gustave Younger."

"Younger, eh? Were you adopted by Brits?"

Erik shook his head slightly. He didn't want to tell this man the truth. He didn't want to lie to him either, but he sensed that he had grieved enough. It was amazing enough that Gustave had volunteered the name Younger, and he would not see the shy, eager glance to please his father dimmed.

"I'd rather not let the past ruin this happy moment," he finally said. "Though I would like to hear another story, when you are ready to tell it."

"Yes, yes. You shall, my son. You are married?"

Erik hesistated. "No. Gustave's mother and I were not married. She passed away nearly two years ago. She was a popular opera singer from Paris."

"Ah, like your mother. She had the voice of an angel. Not suited for opera. She probably never even heard opera music, but she could lift the heart high above the heavens. That was a lifetime ago."

"You loved her?"

"That is a complicated question, with an equally complicated answer," Matthieu replied wearily. "And one perhaps not suited for young ears. Young boy, go into the barn and feed my chicks, if you please. Don't let any of them out!"

Gustave grinned and darted off, obviously eager to be away from the tension of the moment. Erik watched him go with the beginnings of a smile.

"He is a beautiful child."

"Yes. Like his mother," Erik said. "He too, is musical."

"And you? What is it that you do?"

"I am…retired."

"From?"

Erik was silent for a moment, then met Matthieu's eyes. "A life of crime. A life of despair."

Matthieu looked away, as if his fears were confirmed. He nodded. "I feared the worst for you. I tried searching, but you were gone. People thought I was crazy, trying to find a missing infant with your description. I had to be discreet, since everyone thought you were dead. Félician's father was a powerful man, and after what he did to Gisela, I admit that I was a coward. I was excommunicated, alone, and I wallowed in self pity for far too long. It was only after the old man had died that _he_ came forward, telling me that he had seen you in Paris. But it was months later, and once more, you were gone."

"None of it matters to me now. I have Gustave. I met a wonderful woman who I love, even if it's impossible for us to marry. If it is not asking for too much, I wish to count you among the few people in my life. If you need time, I understand-"

"Ha!" Matthieu barked. "I have waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity, at least to my ancient bones. I'm an old man now, time is one thing I do not have."

"I only say it, because I have done truly awful things with my life, and I know you are a man of God. I…I've never even been inside of a church."

"One does not need to be inside a church to feel close to God." Matthieu shook his head. "I was a man of the cloth, but now I am simply a man. I have learned it is wise not to lecture people you have only met, and I have not given one in a very long time. I confess my sins each week, but I have not heard a confession in over forty years. You need not feel uncomfortable around me, Erik. He," he said, pointing upwards, "already knows all that you have done. I do not need to. I put my trust in God, and I hoped and prayed that one day I would see you again. I thought of you just yesterday while I was saying them. And you are here today, just as I have asked, since the day you left me in this very forest."

"Thank you, Matthieu."

"You'll stay then?"

"Yes. We'll stay for awhile."

# #

* * *

><p>It was a month before he returned to Paris, refreshed, healed, but missing Selene very sorely. His father had been sad to see him go, but vowed to come visiting as soon as his garden was fully harvested. Erik had offered to purchase a train ticket for him since the older man did not know how to drive, but Matthieu refused. The moment he arrived in the city his anxiety returned and he took Gustave to his dusty apartment rather than returning to the daroga's. Gustave explored his mask room and all the others with childlike abandon, and Erik sat in his bedroom and stared at the bed where he had last seen Christine and felt the first tears in over a year threaten to choke him. He needed to visit her grave, despite what he had told Selene, yet he knew that doing so would only open himself up to more heartache. Even if he were able to let her go, there would be the memory of another there to taunt him.<p>

He waited another week before asking Mr. Squelch to deliver a note to the Joubert residence, unaware if she was even there anymore. For all he knew she had gone back to Avignon, defiant of her father's wishes, but Squelch brought her reply, curt and to the point. He winced as he read it:

_My Uncle will be available tomorrow for a meeting with Gustave at half noon. My parents will be there to ensure that the meeting is cordial. _

It provided no clue to whether or not she would be present, and he knew he should have at least called or written while he was gone. He thought she would understand why he had maintained distance, yet when he arrived at the abandoned de Chagny estate the next day and found her standing next to a lovely young woman who looked very similar to her, he found her smile strained. Obviously he was not the only one who had spent the time renewing familial relationships.

"Erik, this is my sister," she said, her voice hushed. "Solange, this is Erik Younger."

"Very nice to meet you," he said, acknowledging her briefly. He could not quite meet Selene's eyes and turned away from them both. Alfred and Isabel stood beside Raoul, their expressions resolute. He greeted the Vicomte hesitantly, coldly perhaps, and watched as his son ran forward and embraced the man he had called father for the first ten years of his life.

"You've been gone awhile," Alfred said quietly. "Did you find who you were looking for?"

He glanced at Selene's father, surprised that he cared to ask. "Yes."

"Your…uncle visited me a few weeks ago."

"Monsieur Younger, I had no idea you came from such a distinguished family," Isabelle said, her voice cool.

The warning in Alfred's eyes prevented him from saying what he thought of the aristocracy in general. He inclined his head.

"Until recently, neither did I, Madame Joubert."

"Monsieur Couvreur arranged for Anne to adopt Celestine," Selene said, stepping forward.

Erik finally met her gaze, finding her expression pale and eyes tired. She did not look as if she were expecting a child, thankfully, though it might still be too soon to tell. His gaze dropped involuntarily, but her body was still slim and perfect.

"I am very happy for her then," he replied. "It was kind of you to think of a way to help her."

"Then you are not marrying her, after all?" Alfred asked.

"No."

"Erik?"

He turned at Raoul's voice, finding the other man's face ravaged with tears. He waited, unsure what to say to him.

"May I take Gustave inside? There's not much left, but…"

"Certainly."

He watched them go, regretting so much of his life in that moment that he wanted to be alone so he could rage and weep alone. The daroga was nearby, somewhere, as was Mr. Squelch. Raoul was not the only one with someone present to ensure that things were cordial.

"Excuse me," he murmured to the Joubert family, and left them in search of solitude.

He had not found it very long before Selene approached him near the center of the rose garden. She hesitated once she saw him sitting beside the dry fountain, but he waved her over.

"How was the meeting with your father?"

"Wonderful. Words can't describe how much so."

She sat next to him, closer than she probably should have, but without touching. She smiled, her expression wan.

"I'm so very glad for you," she whispered.

"And your sister?" he asked. "Are things…better?"

"No, not quite. But I…I want to forgive her now. I haven't wanted to for so long. I think I can now."

"I'm sorry I didn't write."

"Or tell me you were leaving?"

"Yes, and for anything else that I may have done."

"You are not to blame. Life is unfair, but I think we have both always known that." She withdrew a thick crinkled document from her reticule, and passed to him. "It does not have to be this time."

"What is this?" he asked, taking it from her. His gaze was stormy as he finished reading it, and he looked up at her full of uncertainty. "This is from Couvreur?"

"Yes. Did you know that the family of ambassadors and other diplomats, have perfect immunity in other countries?"

He shook his head, his fingers tightening over the document as she stood.

"I hope you will accept this one gift from him. A gift of freedom. In return, I want you to burn whatever document you have on my father. I never want to hear of it again."

"Selene-"

"I am giving you this without hesitation. Out of love and respect. Will you honor my wishes?"

Taken aback by the coolness of her tone, he stared at her a moment then nodded. She turned to go, and he felt words cram into his throat so quickly that he made a garbled sound of distress.

"What was that?" she asked, turning to look at him. "Did you say something?"

Feeling dispossessed, he stared again like a fool. "For the same reason," he finally managed.

She looked confused.

"Love and respect. I will honor your wishes because I love you. Because I honor _you_."

"I thought you had forgotten about me," she said quietly, her voice quavering.

"No," he replied softly. "I have not forgotten. How could I forget someone that I loved?"

"When last we spoke, you were quite adamant that we cannot be together. Does the document you possess change that?"

"No. I would have an enormous task ahead of me were I to slay that dragon, Selene. I still fear I could not do it without some sort of casualty. I know the rules of this game, Selene. I hate them, just as you do."

"I wish I could tell the world," she whispered, searching his eyes. "Shout it in the streets. I am not ashamed of how I feel for you. I love you. I love you, and I have not forgotten a moment of what we shared, and I never will. I never intended to forget it. I never intended for it to be only one night."

He exhaled sharply, his lips parting in shock. He stared down at her with his heart thudding so loudly he was surprised she could not hear it, and blood rushed inside his head, making him forget how impossible everything was.

"I can't ask it of you," he whispered. "Your family would never accept it, and I could not ask you to leave them."

"You don't have to ask me. Just tell me if you want me or not. I didn't know if you still regretted it, or if you didn't enjoy it-"

"Didn't enjoy it?" he said, his voice harsh. "Are you mad?"

"Did you?" she asked, her voice soft. "Enjoy it, that is?"

"Selene," Erik whispered. "Don't do that. Don't use that tone with me."

"Tell me."

"I can't…I can't stop thinking about it. But I want more than an affair. I don't want to hide my feelings. I don't want to sneak around behind your father's back, and most of all, I don't want to be arrested for falling in love with someone I'm not meant to have. There isn't anything in the world I want more than you, but I can't take a chance that somehow my own ghosts will come back to haunt me."

"Do you truly love me?"

"Yes. With all of my heart."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she started to go into his arms but the sound of gravel crunched nearby, and the moment was ruined. Alfred appeared around the hedge alone, his brow furrowed severely.

"There you are. Selene, your mother wishes to speak to you."

She fled the garden, her eyes averted from them both. She had not been gone quite a minute when Alfred spoke. "I heard your conversation with her."

Erik winced inwardly, but remained expressionless. "Which part?"

"Enough."

"It doesn't matter, Alfred. I wasn't going to seek your consent. I already know the answer."

Alfred stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "She has not expressed interest in any man in all of this time, and it had to be you. Perhaps only because I expressly forbid it. I do not know. I am conflicted."

Erik only stared at him, unable to speak since a millstone weighted down his tongue.

"If it were not for Isabelle, I would consider your suit, provided that it was a long courtship and that I had time to ensure you are not the deranged lunatic that everyone thus far has made you out to be. I know what sort of man you are. I see the same in myself, perhaps many years ago, but I wouldn't necessarily want that for my daughter. Put yourself in my position, Erik. If you were me, what would you do?"

"There is no doubt that I would be worm fodder by now."

"Be serious for a moment," Alfred said, his voice stern. "Would you be a respectable husband? Would you lay a hand on her in anger? Forbid her from doing normal things, because you are jealous or simply cruel? Don't waste my time, if you won't give an honest answer. I'm merely speculating here. If you actually did any of those things to Selene, you _would_ be worm fodder."

With so many things rushing into his mind, for a moment he paused to organize his thoughts. It felt, however small, as if he had a chance. It would be cruel of Alfred to ask him to lay his feelings and hopes down so openly, and yet he knew that if he did not, he would never know if this chance was real or not.

"You want the truth about me, Alfred? I have done things that I regret. I should be punished for doing them, and I know it. I made many, many mistakes with Christine. I was jealous of Raoul, and I was cruel to her because I was afraid I would lose her. I know what I did wrong. I would never hurt Selene purposefully, not in any way. I've never raised my fist to a woman, but I can never admit to being what you call respectable. The truth is, that love can make a man do foolish, stupid things, but it can also change them into someone better. I'm not some shadow hiding in the dark anymore, praying for someone to share their light with me. Your daughter has always stood up to me. Even when I was deliberately rude and demanding, she never backed away. She's stronger than you think. She's stronger than Christine, and she's much stronger than I."

Alfred sat down with a sigh. "God knows she needs something to go right in her life. She deserves to be happy. If you think that you can heal her heart, who am I to say that you cannot be together? I don't have to warn you twice, I do not think, about how to treat my daughter with honor and respect."

Erik swallowed, staring at Alfred with disbelief. "What about her mother?"

"You cannot win us all over. Let Selene and I face that battle. It pains me that both of my daughters have chosen men that she will never approve of, but I do not want Selene to hurt anymore. And as I have said, I am only approving a courtship. You will request approval from me before asking her to marry you. I trust my daughter will make the right decision, in any case."

"Of course," Erik said faintly. "Thank you, Alfred."

"Go, before I change my mind," Alfred replied brusquely.

He turned, disappearing into a maze of hedgerows, wondering if the interlude with Alfred had been a dream. Beginning to wonder if it was a trap…but surely Alfred would not do such a thing to his own daughter. He left the maze, seeing the three women conversing beneath the shade of a giant oak tree. It took every bit of self restraint he possessed not to cross the lawn and claim her hand, and her lips, in whichever order occurred to him.

Instead he waited until she caught sight of him and came towards him of her own volition.

"Selene," he said as she came near, startled how his voice sounded to his own ears. He was euphoric. He led her around the house, away from prying eyes.

"You're leaving now, aren't you? Do you want me to fetch Gustave?"

"Not before we talk," he said quietly. "Not before I tell you how much I love you, and how I will never, ever stop."

"Erik," she said. Selene reached up and stroked his cheek, her eyes filled with pain. "I love you too. But-."

"But nothing. If what Couvreur told you is true, then they cannot prosecute me. I am not so attached to France, that I cannot live within a few hours of its border. I have never had a true home. Not a family. I have both of those things with Gustave, and with you. I want no one else."

"My family-"

"I told you I regretted our time together. It was a lie. I've never regretted it. Because I felt so at peace afterwards. So loved. I would never make you choose, Selene. They are the ones making you choose. You may come and go as you please to see your family. I will not begrudge you time with them. Let it be on their conscience if they shun you."

"I know that you love Christine. I know the way that you love her," she whispered, feeling a sudden insecurity that she had ignored until now. "Do you care for me half as much as you did her?"

"My love for her consumed me. It terrified me. It is exactly the same with you, only I am older and hopefully wiser now. I love you. As you said before, I will always hold her in my heart. She is the mother of my child. I swear that it does not mean that I love you any less. How could it?"

"Because of who I am-"

He gripped her fiercely, his eyes blazing. "That _never_ mattered to me. Does it matter to you who I am? Your family will never fully accept me, Selene. They will not support you; they will probably disown you. Am I worth it?"

"You and Gustave mean everything to me," she whispered, blinking away tears. "I did not think that you wanted me in your life. I did not think that you would fight for me, or know if you wanted to, so I let you go."

"I wasn't going to fight for you. I learned the hard way that if you have to fight for something so desperately, maybe it wasn't meant to be."

"Or maybe the only kind of love worth having is the kind you have to fight for," Selene said.

"Your answer is yes then?" he asked.

She smiled, nodding, and he breathed a sigh of relief. If he could convince her without knowing that her father had given his consent, then he knew that her feelings for him would be strong enough to bear any further claims her family might have.

"Your father gave me permission to court you."

Her eyes widened after a moment. "He what?"

"I am under strict orders, madam. I cannot ask you to marry me. I must treat you with honor and respect at all times. I will never hit you or mistreat you in any way, or your father will feed me to worms for all of eternity."

She began to cry anew, only this time, it was happiness that caused her tears to fall. He swept her into his arms in a tight embrace. His lips brushed over hers, as he'd dreamed of doing every night for a month.

"I swear all of those things," he whispered.

"You must break one vow," she whispered back. "Ask me to marry you."

"Selene, I promised your father."

"Ask me anyway. It is an answer I wish to give now, even informally."

He held her at arms length, gazing into her eyes. "Marry me," he mouthed, barely uttering the words.

"Yes," she replied, doing the same. "One hundred thousand times, yes."

He kissed her again, his heart soaring.

"I was never very good with controlling my impulses, Selene. I don't want to give your father any reason to change his mind. I find that I want to do as he asks. Let me pay court to you. I will give my best shot at wooing, which I have never done."

"I will be a very demanding bride, I must warn you. I expect flowers and you must compose music and poetry for me. I will never allow you to shut me out or yell at me, because if you do then you can be certain I will yell back."

He laughed. "It will be interesting to see which of us is more demanding."


	30. Epilogue

A final note:

Thank you all for bearing with me. I know it has taken awhile to get the chapters up, and for that I do apologize. I hope that by posting these all at once it makes up for the delay. I added this little Epilogue today to try and tie things up a little better, although I do know that there are plenty of holes and missing parts. I had more of this story written but I went back and consolidated a few things, so I hope it all made sense. I know I have said this before, but this will absolutely be my last FF story. Life has sort of gotten in the way of my writing life, but I hope by finishing this story I can move on to stories that are 100 percent solely mine.

I thank each & every one of you for your reviews, and I will miss you all!

* * *

><p>Epilogue<p>

"How does she look?" Erik asked anxiously. "She is still here?"

Matthieu smiled and patted Erik's shoulder. "Your bride awaits. You are certain this is the way you want to do things? A marriage done in secret is bound to cause more strain between you and the Jouberts."

Erik shrugged. "I doubt that very much. It has been a year since Alfred gave me permission to court his daughter. A year to convince his wife that I am not going to kidnap Selene and lock her in a cellar to sing for me. She is not warming towards me, and it is time for us to marry."

"Love is patient," his father said, barely able to keep from laughing.

"I am not," Erik muttered.

"Father! Father!" Gustave burst into the room, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Uncle Alfred is here!"

"Perfect. Just perfect."

He checked his reflection in the mirror, scowling at himself. He had broached the subject with Alfred twice in the past six months, and Alfred simply said, "We will see."

It was past time for seeing. He had tried his damn best to keep his hands off of Selene during their courtship, but he was not always successful in keeping her hands off of him. Selene had told him two weeks ago that she was almost certain she was pregnant, and that had been it for him. To hell with waiting, he had decided. To hell with everything except for his new family.

"Well," Alfred said as he came in. "I suppose I should have expected this."

"I suppose you should have." Erik turned to face him, surprised to see Alfred wearing formal wedding attire, complete with white tie and a top hat. There was no scowl evident on Alfred's face, only a bit of strain around his eyes. "You knew."

"Yes. There are but a few places a marriage license may be obtained in Paris. I have had ears and eyes out, watching for my daughters name."

"You are not here to stop us?"

"No."

"But you will not give your blessing?"

Alfred winced. "Perhaps once you are married and have a daughter, you will understand. I cannot give you my blessing without incurring the wrath of my wife. I do still have my reservations, but…"

"What?" Erik asked anxiously.

"But I think my daughter will make you happy and keep you in line, and I already know how happy you make her."

"And that is all that matters, is it not?" Matthieu interrupted. "Erik, you'd best not keep your bride waiting. Alfred, I know Selene will be so very happy that you are here to give her away."

Alfred nodded and left the room, leaving Erik alone with Gustave and Matthieu. Erik wondered who else might have come. Solange, possibly. Selene and her sister had finally resolved their problems, and even allowed Jean to offer his apologies, however belated they were. Mr. Squelch had returned to America and to his family a few months ago, taking Miss Fleck along with him. Raoul de Chagny had finally managed to pay off his creditors, found employment as a translator with the foreign legion, and was currently somewhere in Africa no doubt sweating in some jungle or a desert. He had wished them both well, though it was apparent the news of their courtship had completely baffled him. The daroga, upon hearing that he was getting married, had laughed so hard he had cried, and declared that he would not miss the wedding for all the world. As far as Gustave was concerned, since his father was courting Selene, he might as well marry her.

That only left Anne to invite, and she had been more than happy to be Selene's bridesmaid. It had been a very long two weeks since she had told him they might be expecting a child. Two weeks, where he had done nothing but try not to pull his hair out while Selene dashed about Paris doing this and that, preparing for a wedding that was supposed to be secret, instead of resting.

Finally the moment came, and the small chapel seemed to swell with music. His gaze wandered over the congregation without seeing anyone. His heart hammered inside his breast, so hard and loud that it felt as if it might burst. The doors at the end of the long nave opened and sunlight shone down upon his bride. His breath caught, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

"She's pretty," his best man whispered.

He turned to smile at Gustave. "That she is."

She glided to him, a figure in white with dark blue eyes peeping out at him beneath mechlin lace with her characteristic red lips curved into a smile. Alfred gave her hand to his, and faded back, as fathers must do for such occasions.

"Your dress is lovely, Madame. As are you."

"A bit snugger than it was a month ago," she whispered.

His eyes widened. "A month? I am scandalized Madame. How long have you been planning to ensnare me?"

"Longer than you know, Sir."

She linked her arm through his, and vowed to love, to honor, to obey him. He promised, quite solemnly, to do the same.

The moment felt surreal, yet he knew it was no dream. Her perfume teased at him. The sapphire and diamond ring slid over her finger; a perfect fit. She truly loved him, and it showed in her eyes. He kissed her, and knew that he was home.

In the end it no longer mattered who was there and who was not. It no longer mattered that they would not have her family's full approval, or that they were marrying because of an unexpected child. They were a family, and had begun to be one long before this day. Gustave might not call Selene 'Mother', but she meant everything to him. He had changed so much in the past few months that it was like living with a different child. He shared music with his father. He laughed and shared stories with him, and got into trouble with mischief and out of it with an exuberant smile.

Erik had fallen more deeply in love with Selene, and as promised, he had courted her with music and poems, with flowers and jewelry and flattery. His temper, always just beneath the surface, sometimes drove her to distraction. His insecurities, never far away, often threatened to come between them. It wasn't perfect, but it was love, and it was theirs.

They walked out of the chapel together, and on the steps before their family and friends, shared another kiss in the bright, nearly blinding sunlight.

"Will you tell me where we are going?" Selene asked, after they had been given a teary farewell. "I wasn't sure what to pack, a bathing suit or snow shoes."

"Hmmm. Well, you could wear the snow shoes, but I doubt very much that you will need them in Madrid."

She flung her arms around his neck, causing the car to swerve slightly. He gripped the wheel tighter, but placed his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

"Beautiful Madrid," she whispered. "A hotel room to ourselves for two weeks. Such a pity you chose Madrid."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Oh, I have always wanted to see it. Now I shall miss the chance. I daresay I will not let you out of the hotel long enough to enjoy it."

Erik groaned as her hands began to wander across his torso. "How fortunate for me, Madame, that I married such a minx."

"I hope you leased a private sleeping car. This minx has ideas of how she wants to spend her wedding night."

He smiled slowly. "Ah, Madame Younger. I might have an idea or two of my own."

Selene nestled against him tighter, feeling so overjoyed that tears pricked her eyes. "I love you, my husband."

"I love you, my wife."

"I do have a teensy confession to make. I hope you aren't angry," she said softly.

He glanced down at her. "You are not pregnant, are you?"

"Oh, most likely I am. There have been far too many…ah…moments for that, and all the signs seem to say yes. I was referring to our wedding vows. There is one that I know will give me trouble."

He chuckled. "I daresay it was the one about obedience."

"That one," she confirmed gravely.

"I rather suspected you might."

"Did you truly think I would trick you into marriage by faking a pregnancy?"

"I rather hoped you would."

"We have not really discussed it. You did not say much when I told you," Selene said softly.

"I am sorry that you are in this predicament. I am unhappy with myself for now doing this to two unmarried women." He glanced down at her. "I am not unhappy with your condition. Worried? Yes. I have many worries. But I missed so many things with Gustave. I will be there with you, every step of the way. Unless there is a nappy changing involved, and then you are on your own."

She poked his ribs and laughed.

"There is also the matter of where we will live," Erik said. "Paris seems to have grown on you."

"My father not trying to dominate my love life has grown on me. He has not tried to force me on a single date. But I miss Avignon. I miss the city, and the Venerable Heart. I hope you would not mind terribly if we lived there. It is not too far from your father, is it?"

"My father is moving north of Marseilles. The winters in Wallonia do not agree with him, and he has the oddest notion to start a vineyard."

"Why on earth would he want to do that?" she asked.

"It might have something to do with the fact that I bought a vineyard. A small one. But he would only be an hour or so away."

"One less thing settled. That only leaves…"

His lips quirked, but he did not glance at her.

"Already taken care of."

"You told my father I'm pregnant?" Selene asked, aghast.

"Even better," Erik said, his eyes trained straight ahead. "I sent him a missive."


End file.
